A Sorta Fairytale
by Rachel Greenwood
Summary: They have each other, but will that be enough for what lies ahead? Is it even enough for everything that happens just during the first few years of their marriage? WWI, vindictive relatives, injuries, illnesses, and sudden wealth are just a few of the obstacles they face. The epic tale of Jack and Rose's life together. Now with chapters that aren't absurdly short. Edited & reposted
1. Chapter 1

Jack watched Rose gaze up at the Statue of Liberty. She was entranced and didn't seem to notice the rain. He wondered what she was thinking. Was she regretting the decisions she made the night before? His stomach tightened, knotting around a ball of fear. _She loves you. If she didn't she wouldn't have done all of that._ Yet he couldn't help but doubt it just a little; after all, what could he ever really give her? He knew who he was, and he knew who _she_ was.

Rose noticed Jack's gaze had been lingering on her for quite some time, but she wasn't sure why. _I know I look awful_ , she thought. Unable to take it anymore, she turned her head slightly and met his eyes. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he answered quietly. "I was just thinking."

"What were you thinking about?"

Jack opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again. He wasn't sure how to say what was on his mind. "Rose," he began slowly, "You don't…" He let the sentence dangle, unfinished.

"Don't what, Jack?" Rose's voice held a hint of worry.

. "You don't wish you'd decided to stay with—"

"No!" Rose exclaimed, cutting him off. "How—why would you ever think that?" she asked incredulously.

"I was just afraid you, that maybe you'd realized how serious the choices you made last night were, and you were regretting some things." Jack took her hand. "I don't want you to be regretting anything," he added, stroking her palm with his thumb. "But if you are…" He looked down at her hand in his. Her hand looked so small compared to his. Her skin was so much lighter than his; she'd never spent the kind of time in the sun he had. She'd also never done anything compared to the kind of work he had. Her hands were so soft, so smooth. He gently traced her palm with his slightly calloused fingertips. "But if you are," he started again, determined to finish this time, "I'll understand." He looked into her eyes. "I really will understand if that's what you need—to go back."

Rose couldn't believe what she was hearing. After all they had been through together, could he really doubt her? "Are you saying you want me to go back?" she asked, afraid of the answer. "Do you—"she could feel herself beginning to cry and was trying to hold it together. "Do you—" she tried again, tears springing to her eyes this time.

Jack pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. She was crying heavily now, her words muffled by his shirt. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into her curls. "I love you, I love you," he chanted, squeezing her tighter. "I don't want you to ever leave me." He tilted her face up, holding it in his hands. His thumbs stroked her tear-streaked cheeks. "Never. Okay? I survived because of you, and not just because of what you did for me. You are the best thing that ever happened to me." He kissed her. Leaning so their foreheads met, her face still in his hands, he continued quietly, "I want to marry you."

"You do?" Rose was shocked. "You really want to marry me?"

"Yes!" Jack exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. "I want to marry you as soon as possible. I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you." He took her hands. "I want to show you the world, Rose. The real world, the things I've seen. I want to watch the fire in you get stronger."

Rose was crying again, but tears of joy this time. She wrapped her arms around him. "Yes, yes, all of that!"

"You mean it?"

"I've never wanted anything more," she said, looking up into his eyes. "I love you, Jack."

He didn't say anything else; he just kissed her. He kissed her for a long time.

Eventually they came back to reality, and realized they were soaked from the rain. It was still early in the day, but they couldn't stand around forever. It would be night before they knew it.

Hand in hand they walked toward a man in a White Star Line uniform. He was calling out to survivors to come forward and give their names. "And who are you two?" he asked. Jack started to answer, but Rose beat him to it. "Dawson," she said. "Jack and Rose Dawson."

"Thank you," he said, walking on to collect more names.

"You used my name." Jack could only stare at her.

"What?"

"Just then. You used my name."

"Of course I did." Rose wondered what he was getting at. "Would you rather I hadn't?"

"It isn't that I would rather you hadn't," he replied. "I guess I just didn't expect it."

"But you just asked me to marry you," Rose laughed.

"You're right. I did," Jack said with a grin. "I don't know what I was thinking. It's so strange to me that you would want this."

"We're not going over this again, Jack," Rose said quietly. "I love you, and I want to be with you."

He nodded and squeezed her hand. "Okay. Settled then."

Just then another White Star Line official began making an announcement. "All survivors of the Titanic sinking will be given free lodgings and tickets out of New York City if they so desire—"

They smiled at each other. Things were looking up.

…

They discovered the White Star Line wasn't just providing lodgings for the survivors; it was also providing them at the best hotels in the city. Their room was actually a three room suite that included a bedroom, sitting room, and private bathroom.

Jack couldn't help but be taken aback by his surroundings. He stood in the doorway and just let his eyes wander. He'd never desired wealth, and he still didn't. However, he couldn't help being impressed. The furniture was all of a rich oak; the bedclothes were thick and soft. Every inch of their suite sparkled with cleanliness.

Rose, on the other hand, was less than thrilled. She motioned for Jack to close the door. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he answered. "I just can't believe they gave us this."

"We don't have to stay here. If you.." Rose trailed off.

Jack looked at her curiously. "What?"

"I just meant that if you thought we should—"

"Wait," he interrupted her. "Do you not want to stay here?"

Rose felt like squirming under his gaze. "It's not that," she said slowly. "I just don't want you to think I couldn't handle it somewhere else."

"Rose."

"Yes?" she asked tentatively.

"I don't think that."

"You don't?"

"No." Jack laughed. "You need to stop worrying so much." He took her hand. "Didn't we already go over something like this?"

Rose nodded. "I know."

"Alright then," he said, pulling her into a hug. "Let's not talk about it anymore. There's something more important we could be doing."

Rose looked up at him, slightly confused. "What are we supposed to be doing?"

"Well, I was thinking we could get married—if you want to," he said quickly.

Rose stared at him. "Today?" she asked.

"Yeah." Jack wondered if maybe he shouldn't have brought it up so soon. "But we don't have to," he added.

"I want to!" Rose cried.

"You do?" Jack said, relieved.

"Yes, of course I do." Rose raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you just saying something to me about worrying too much?"

Jack grinned sheepishly. "I might have said something like that."

"Well, you think about that and I'll go try and make myself look decent," Rose said, as she headed toward the bathroom. She didn't have any other clothes, but she could take a bath. It would be better than nothing.

"You never look decent," Jack called after her.

Rose spun around in shock. "What?"

"You're always beautiful."

Rose shook her head. "You—" she wanted to be annoyed, but instead found it impossible to suppress a smile. "You need to behave while I'm in here," she said, removing her coat and shoes. She left them outside the door, which she shut behind her.

Jack picked up the coat. Maybe it could be sold. He still had the ten dollars in his pocket, though he wasn't sure how it hadn't gotten lost at some point during the sinking. However, he knew that wasn't nearly enough. Rose was willing to live however he did, but he wasn't going to let her experience life on the streets. There would be no sleeping under a bridge for her. He knew he couldn't give her anything close to what she'd always had, but he was determined to give her something.

He turned the coat over, and as he did he noticed one side felt slightly heavier than the other. Puzzled he reached into the pocket. His hands closed around a hard, cold object. He felt around a bit more as the realization hit him that he knew exactly he was holding. "It can't be," he said, pulling his hand out of the pocket. It was. Jack stared, dumbfounded, at the Heart of the Ocean.

"Why—" Before he could finish the question another, more important one, entered his mind. What might be in the other pocket?

Quickly he laid the necklace on a table and plunged his hand into the other pocket. It was almost as though he were watching someone else as he laid stack after stack of money onto the table. Slowly he recovered from his shock. Here was the answer he needed. Here was what he needed to provide for Rose until he found another way, until they figured out what they were going to do next. So what if it was Cal's money? Didn't he owe them something for trying to murder them? "I won't use it all," he told himself. "Just a little. Just enough to keep her taken care of."

He heard the sound of Rose getting out of the tub. He grabbed the necklace and money and shoved them back into the coat pockets.

Rose stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Her hair framed her face, the curls straightened temporarily by the water. Her eyes were brighter than they had been since the disaster began. She smiled at Jack. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing," he answered, keeping his voice steady. "I need to go take care of something. Will you be okay here for a little bit?"

Rose nodded. "Where are you going?"

"It's a surprise," Jack said, giving her a quick kiss. "I won't be long," he added as he stepped out the door, coat in hand.

…

Jack hurried down the street holding the coat in a vise-like grip. He knew exactly what he was after, and when he reached the building he needed he stopped and carefully pulled a few bills from one of the stacks, making sure to keep it out of sight.

His quest took about two hours, and it was already almost mid-afternoon by the time he finished. He hurried back to the hotel hoping Rose hadn't started to worry.

He called out to her as she opened the door, but she didn't answer. He found her curled up on the bed in a deep sleep, still wrapped in the towel. Jack put his new purchases—and the coat—in the closet before lying down beside her. He slid his arm under her, gently pulling her close..

Rose opened her eyes and found herself in Jack's arms. He was asleep, his cheek resting on her head. _He's beautiful,_ she thought. _Maybe that isn't the word you're supposed to use for man, but that's what he is right now._

It wasn't long before he began stirring. "Are you watching me sleep?" he asked teasingly, eyes still closed.

"Something wrong with that?" Rose replied in a mock-offended tone.

"It's a little weird, you gotta admit," he said opening his eyes. Rose pretended to gasp in shock. Jack laughed and sat up, pulling her up with him.

"Did you take care of what you needed to?" Rose asked.

"I did." Jack grinned and kissed the top of her head. "In fact, I'll show you what I did." Rose watched as he reached into the closet. Her curiosity only increased when he removed a plain white box.

"This," he said sitting down beside her, "is for you."

"What is it?"

"Open it."

Jack watched her slowly untie the ribbon holding the lid on. _Maybe she won't like it_. He held his breath as she removed the lid and reached inside. Silently she lifted out a green silk dress, very much like the one she wore while flying.

For a moment neither of them said anything. Rose stared at the beautiful garment in her hands. Jack nervously watched her, waiting for her reaction.

She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. "How did you—"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter how. Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Rose was incredulous. "Jack, I love it. I just don't see how we could possibly have had the money for something like this. It's so—it must have cost—"

"Let me worry about that," he said gently. "Please. At least for now."

"But Jack—"

"I want to do this for you. You deserve this. You deserve to get married in something as beautiful as you are, and I might never be able to give you anything like this again."

Rose nodded slowly. "Alright, but eventually you have to tell me how you did this."

"Okay. Look in the box again."

"There's more?" Rose couldn't hide her shock.

Jack just smiled. "Look and see."

She peered into the box and discovered another, much smaller box. "Is this what I think it is?"

Jack didn't answer. He reached across her and picked up the small box. "That depends," he said, opening it, "on what you think it is."

Rose could only stare in wonder at the ring in the box Jack held out to her. It was silver with a small, white pearl.

"It's so beautiful," she said finally.

"You like it?"

"I love it!"

Jack felt a wave of relief wash over him. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she hadn't liked it. "Then may I have your hand?" he asked in an exaggeratedly haughty tone.

"You may," Rose answered in an equally exaggerated tone. Jack slid the ring on her finger, and for a moment they just gazed at each other.

…..

Ruth sat stiffly in a chair in her hotel suite. She too had taken advantage of the White Star Line's offer of free accommodations. After all, it was probably going to be the last time she ever enjoyed the luxury to which she felt she was entitled. She had a train ticket to Philadelphia, but it didn't leave for another three days. Until then she had nothing else to do but remain in her room. She didn't want to see any of the other survivors. It was too shameful, even if they didn't know the truth about what happened to her daughter. Their pitying looks and empty offers of support were too much for her to bear.

Grief wasn't her problem, though she was certain Rose was indeed dead. There was no way she could have made it out alive, at least no way Ruth could see. No, grief wasn't her problem. It might be eventually, but at that moment she was too caught up in other things.

What would she do now? What would she tell people when they asked what happened? How was she to explain away Rose's death? She couldn't say, "Well, she ran back into the sinking ship, and after that I never saw her again." No, she could never say that even though that's exactly what happened. Nor could she say, "She met this—this boy and he somehow convinced her to…" She couldn't finish the sentence because she wasn't entirely sure what exactly he had convinced her to do. She'd seen the drawing, but there was more to it. She'd also seen the way they'd looked at each other. The simple truth was Rose had given up her life to be with him.

"She threw away everything," Ruth said aloud. Her voice echoed in the silent room. "Everything—and for what?"

Just then a sharp knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts. Irritated at being interrupted, she quickly opened it and found herself staring into the faces of two of the women from _Titanic's_ first class.

"We heard this was your room, and we wanted to see how you were doing," the first one, a petite blonde said.

"Yes, do you need anything at all?" added the other one, a tall brunette.

Ruth stared at them for a moment, unable to form an acceptable answer. It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out, "What I need is for my daughter to not have been so foolish with her choices", but she had been well-trained.

"I'm quite alright, thank you," she said graciously. "It was good of you to think of me."

"Would you like to have dinner with us?" asked the blonde. She seemed to be the leader.

The brunette nodded. "Yes, we would love it if you would join us."

Ruth didn't believe for a second the two women sought her out because they were concerned. They barely knew her. They wanted information. She had underestimated how quickly things can get around.

She opened her mouth, ready to decline their invitation, but what actually came out was, "That would be lovely."

Deep down she knew refusing their offer would only fuel the gossip fires even more, and she also knew it might be the last dinner of its kind. Once people found out the truth about her it would all be over.

Just as Ruth was accepting a dinner invitation, Jack and Rose were repeating their wedding vows. Their wedding only lasted about three minutes.

And just like that it was over. They were married.

Rose couldn't believe it. It all seemed so unreal. Less than a week earlier she had been engaged to Cal, and now here she was married to someone else. _Not just someone else_ , she reminded herself. _You're married to Jack._

A small part of her had never believed it would actually happen. She trusted her feelings—and him—completely, and once she accepted how she felt it was obvious what she had to do. Yet she hadn't been able to shake the gnawing fear that something would go wrong. It was too good to be true. After all, marriage, as far as her old world was concerned, had very little to do with love. By the standards of her old world, she had just made one of the biggest mistakes a woman can make, but she didn't care.

Jack couldn't believe it either. _How did this happen? Why me?_

And then something else entered his mind, something he was ashamed of thinking even as he did so.

 _Looks like I won._

…

Ruth wasn't surprised by how easily she slipped into her public role. She had always liked it, and unlike Rose, she didn't understand what could be so suffocating about it. What was wrong with a few hours of simple—if sometimes a bit vapid—conversation? What was wrong with rating people based on their background and bank balance? Didn't those things show they had made an effort? Truly, she believed those on the bottom were there because they just didn't understand there was a better way to live.

Looking around the hotel's lavish dining room she thought, _How could Rose not have wanted this? How could she give this up—and for him?_

It would have been different if she had left Cal because she found someone better. Ruth could have understood that. After all, there were wealthier and better connected men out there, and in her opinion Rose could have had any one of them if she'd only cared to. Why she never bothered was a mystery to Ruth. Why Cal had been so willing to marry her when she barely paid the slightest bit of attention to him was also a mystery. However, it was true that beauty could go a long way toward securing a man's interest, and there was no question about whether or not Rose was beautiful.

 _But she wasn't smart,_ Ruth thought bitterly. In this world a woman had to have a man, but not just any man. She needed someone who could take care of her. _And I have no-one to do that anymore._

Almost as if cued by her thought, Cal strode into the dining room. His entrance caught the attention of most of the women there, and that fact wasn't lost on him. He flashed a smile at each one as he made his way to his table.

Glancing around the room he accidentally caught Ruth's eye. They stared at each other silently for a moment before he nodded and tilted his head slightly in the direction of the door.

They would discuss the situation later.

Meanwhile Jack and Rose were skipping dinner altogether. After leaving the courthouse they headed back to the hotel, and though neither ever said what was going on, they both knew.

In the elevator Jack began to slowly stroke Rose's palm with his thumb. He didn't look in her direction, just continued staring straight ahead as if nothing was happening. Rose didn't acknowledge she knew what he was doing.

When they finally reached their floor and stepped out into the hallway—and the elevator attendant was safely out of sight—she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a frenzied kiss.

"How could you do that to me?" she whispered.

Jack didn't answer. With one quick movement he swept her into his arms and started carrying her to their room. Rose recognized the look in his eyes. She'd known all along what he was up to in the elevator, but now that she could clearly see it things were a bit different.

It wasn't that she didn't want him; she did, very much. She just wasn't sure she was supposed to want what was about to happen as much as she did. That just wasn't how things worked. She'd been surprised by the force of her feelings and by the way she had been acting on them. She had most definitely not been behaving like a well-brought up girl.

She was so lost in thought she didn't notice when Jack carried her into their room. She did notice his lips on her neck. Slowly he kissed the space between her ear and shoulder. She sighed quietly and tilted her head to give him easier access.

"So you like that, miss?" he asked in a mock servant tone.

Rose nodded. "Yes," she answered in the best exaggerated society woman voice she could. If he could play than so could she.

Jack gently lowered her onto the bed and positioned himself beside her. He slowly ran his fingertips across her cheek. He'd never known a person could have skin as soft as hers.

"I love you," he said quietly.

Rose smiled. "I know you do."

"You know that's not exactly the answer I was looking for."

She giggled. "Wasn't it?"

Jack shook his head as though he were terribly disappointed. "Oh, well."

"Jack." Rose's voice held no hint of teasing.

He looked deep into her eyes. Was something wrong? He chose not to say anything. It was best to wait for her to continue.

"I love you so much."

He smiled. "Nothing wrong then?"

"Oh no," Rose said quickly.

Jack leaned down and began kissing her. She responded by wrapping her arms around him and pulling him on top of her. Jack groaned quietly. His skin felt like it was on fire. He shifted the arm he still had around her slightly to give him more room to work on the buttons on her dress. He had reached the conclusion that it needed to come off as quickly as possible.

Rose squirmed under his weight, enjoying the way his body felt pressed against hers. She could tell her was trying desperately to unbutton her dress, but the buttons were tiny and he was only working with one hand. She didn't want to wait the half hour it would probably take him.

"Stop," she whispered pulling away from the kiss.

"What?" Jack was confused. "Do you not—"

"Just wait a moment," she said untangling herself from him. She climbed off the bed and quickly began unbuttoning her dress. It didn't take her long to finish.

"Are you watching me?" she asked.

Jack nodded. "I'm watching," he said huskily.

Rose smiled haughtily. "Good." She lightly shrugged the dress from her shoulders. Slowly it slid down her body and formed a pool of green silk around her feet.

Jack could only stare. He hadn't known she wasn't wearing anything underneath the dress.

"Why are you staring?" Rose felt self-conscious under his gaze. He'd seen so many other women's bodies. Was he comparing her?

"You're just so beautiful."

Rose blushed. She didn't know why she felt so nervous this time. Maybe it was because now they had time. There was no chance of someone discovering them. They weren't running from anyone. Would that make things better or worse?

"Rose."

"Yes?"

"Would you come here?"

She stepped over to him. He grabbed her hands and pulled her back onto the bed. She giggled. "Not eager are you?" she teased, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt.

 **AN: I didn't edit this as much as I originally wanted to. I decided I didn't want to rewrite it completely, and that's what it would take to make me satisfied with it. I don't think it's bad; I just think I've become a better writer since this story began. But it was my first serious** _ **Ttianic**_ **fic, and as much as some of the writing makes me cringe and as much as I wish I hadn't tried to jam every soap opera plot twist into a single story, I still like it. So, eventually all the chapters will get edited and reposted.**


	2. Chapter 2

The first time was frenzied. It went by in a rush of passion that left both of them dazed and breathless. It had to be like that. They didn't have the luxury of time, and had either of them stopped to think clearly they would have realized how precarious a position they were getting into, but it didn't matter anymore because that night was over. They made it through.

But Jack was determined to make this one last as long as he could.

…

Ruth didn't get to have her discussion with Cal. He ducked out of the dining room when she wasn't looking, and although she could have found out what room he was in she chose not to. What was the point? What could possibly be said that could tell her more clearly how things stood between them?

She went to bed early and slept through breakfast for the first time in her life. It was just as well, considering what she would have heard had she gone.

Cal went to breakfast, much to the chagrin of the other men there. Perhaps it wasn't entirely his fault that he couldn't understand why Rose had always been so disinterested in him. The vast majority of women in the hotel dining room alone found him quite interesting.

As he sipped his coffee he listened to the conversations going on around him. His mind was beginning to wander when he heard women's voices whispering at the table behind him. Intrigued, he tilted his head back a bit, hoping to hear what was so scandalous.

"I tell you I heard something last night. "

"You did not."

"I did!"

"What was it then?"

"It was…it sounded like…."

"Like what?" The second woman was becoming impatient.

Cal was too. _I'd better not be listening to this for nothing._

Finally the first woman choked out, "It sounded like—"she lowered her voice even more, " _That_."

Cal's impatience was suddenly gone. Were these two perfectly respectable young women discussing the sexual activities of others?

"It did not!"

"It did!" the first woman insisted.

"Wait, I thought the room next to yours was empty."

"It was until yesterday morning. This couple checked into it."

"Do you know who they were?"

"No, but I think they had something to do with the _Titanic_. You know the hotel is giving out rooms to the survivors."

"Why do you think that?"

"Something about the way they looked—like they just didn't belong in a hotel like this. Except, well, she could have passed for a lady, I think, had she been wearing fresher clothes," the first woman said.

Cal refused to jump to any conclusions. After all, there were lots of people who had survived the sinking running around this hotel regardless of where they really belonged. One woman who might possibly pass for a lady under the right circumstances meant nothing. They were dead.

"What about the man?"

"Oh no, he definitely didn't belong here, but…"

"Would you stop that!" the second woman cried.

Cal silently agreed with the second woman.

The first woman blushed. "Well, he was just so—so handsome."

The second woman rolled her eyes. "Is that all?"

"You didn't see him. You can't understand. He had this blonde hair that fell into his eyes—the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen!"

Cal couldn't believe his ears. No, it couldn't be. Could it?

…..

The afternoon sun was streaming through the window when Rose opened her eyes. It was the latest she had ever slept, and she was shocked to have done it. Something didn't seem right. Wasn't something dreadful going to happen as a punishment for not being perfectly dressed and at breakfast by seven a.m.?

She lay there for a few moments, and when a bolt of lightning didn't strike her, decided that yet another thing she had been taught as a child was untrue. She thought about getting up, but it was impossible. Her legs were intertwined with Jack's. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, and his head rested on her shoulder. The only way she could untangle herself would be if she woke him up. She lay there watching him sleep for what seemed like hours, but it actually wasn't long before he opened his eyes.

"Hello," she said quietly.

"Hey. What time is it?" he asked sleepily.

"I don't know. I haven't been able to get up and find out."

"Why not?" He grinned, noticing their intertwined bodies. "Oh. I see."

"I was waiting for you to wake up, but it seemed like you were going to sleep right on through into the night."

Jack lightly kissed her along the jaw line. "You exhausted me."

"Jack!" Rose blushed deeply.

"I'm sorry," he said, slightly taken aback. "I didn't mean it was a bad thing."

"I know you didn't." Rose's tone was apologetic. "I know it sounds stupid, but there's this part of me that is having trouble accepting how I feel about some things."

"I understand."

"I don't even know if I do," Rose laughed. "It sounds so crazy."

"Don't worry about it." He gently hugged her. "You didn't grow up in a world where anything you've done lately was considered possible."

"You're right." Rose sighed. "It's just frustrating. It's as though there are two of me. There's the me who thinks making love to you is wonderful—"Here was Jack's turn to blush. Rose smirked and continued, "And there's the me that's ashamed of even thinking like that."

"Don't worry about it," Jack repeated. "There's nothing wrong with you. At all. Alright?"

Rose nodded. "I'll try not to."

He smiled. "Good. Now, how do you propose we untangle ourselves?"

….

After his discovery at breakfast Cal went to the hotel's head waiter determined to find out what room the gossipy woman was staying in. It had cost him a few dollars, but in the end he found out what he wanted to know.

However, he chose not to investigate right then. The time didn't feel quite right to him. Besides, he had other things to do, like arrange to go home. He didn't want to stay in New York forever. He would satisfy his curiosity in the afternoon instead. They weren't going anywhere, if it actually was them.

Ruth made an appearance at lunch. She didn't think it would look right if she missed two meals in a row. Someone might notice and start talking, and that was the last thing she wanted. There would be plenty for them to talk about once she got back to Philadelphia. The house—and everything else—couldn't go unsold forever.

She was too busy getting lost in self-pity to notice when Cal walked up to her. He stood slightly behind her and waited for her to acknowledge him. He loudly cleared his throat. Ruth whipped around, startled by the sudden noise.

"Oh," she said, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were there."

Cal swallowed the first reply that sprang to his lips and said, "I'm sure you have a lot on your mind right now."

Ruth nodded.

He continued, "I just wanted to ask if you would be available sometime this evening. There are things we need to discuss."

"Yes, I'm—when did you have in mind?"

"Around eight o'clock? I'll meet you in the lounge."

"That's fine," she said.

Meanwhile Jack and Rose were happily unaware of what was going on around them. They ordered lunch in their room and settled into a discussion of the future."What do you want to do?" Jack asked.

"You mean in general or in life?"

"You can tell me either," he grinned.

"Well, in life I guess I—I don't exactly know. Everything's always been decided for me. I've never thought about it too deeply before."

"If you could do anything, what would it be?"

"I'd—I'd head out to the horizon whenever I feel like it," Rose said, looking into his eyes.

"Do you really mean that?" Jack's tone was serious.

"Yes. I meant it when I said it the first time. Why? Would you not want to live like that with me along?"

"It isn't that," he replied carefully. "It's just I want to give you the kind of life you want and need—" Rose started to interrupt him. He held his hand up, asking her to wait. "I know how structured your life has been. I know how completely restricted you've been. I just don't want you to grab for the opposite too quickly and then realize you'd rather have something more secure, that's all. I trust that you love me, but I want to know _you_ know what we'd be getting into."

Rose considered his words. "I understand. I really do. I truly don't want to just stay in one place and always pretty much know how the day's going to go—at least not right now. Maybe eventually I will, but now I want to live those stories we made up for ourselves."

"Alright. As long as you understand everything we won't have."

"I'll have you."

Jack smiled. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Where shall we go first then?"

After some deliberation they decided not to rather to choose a destination at random and go from there. The plan was mostly Rose's idea. Jack was still a bit skeptical about jumping back into the life of a wanderer and taking Rose along for the ride, but he didn't say anything. He didn't doubt her strength or her intelligence; he didn't doubt that she really wanted it. Yet there was this part of him that just wanted to give her more, but what exactly that would be he didn't know. He knew money wasn't the answer. He knew what she needed was for the fire to keep growing, and the only way for that to happen would be for her to, well, as she put it, live.

His mind understood everything, but his heart was terrified he would put her in a situation she wasn't prepared for.

So they walked to the train station, silently, hand in hand. It was a beautiful day. Rose was overcome by how different the world looked to her now. She kept suppressing the urge to point out each dazzling new discovery.

Jack watched her expression change out of the corner of his eye. He saw her face go from delighted to shocked to pensive and then back around again within a three minute span, and he liked it. There was a heaviness that had been in her eyes when he met her, and it finally seemed to be lifting.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"Oh yes," Rose answered. "I don't know why just walking down the street is so exciting to me."

"Did you ever just walk somewhere before?"

"No, actually, I never really did. Obviously, I've walked places before, but I was always surrounded by people. There was never that much time to just look around and see the people and placed around me. Also, I tended to go to the same places most of the time."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Respectable places, I'm sure," he said in his best upper class voice.

"Always!" Rose pretended to be shocked.

"Whatever made you want to throw in with me?" Jack laughed.

"I…" Rose wasn't sure how to answer. There didn't seem to be any words capable of explaining. She brought their clasped hands to her lips and kissed his. They were quiet after that, each lost in their own thoughts.\When they reached the train station they read the board with the list of trains coming in and going out over the next week.

"Where do you want to eventually end up?" Jack asked. "Or does it matter? Because if we're trying to eventually make it somewhere specific, we might want to head in that general direction."

Rose was overwhelmed by just how much freedom they had. "We could eventually end up in California. I've always thought it would be nice to go there."

Jack smiled remembering their imaginary plans about Santa Monica. "Alright. Well, we could take this one to Virginia."

Rose nodded. "Alright."

"So, it leaves the day after tomorrow."

….

Meanwhile, Cal was exploring. He found their room, and just to see what would happen, knocked on the door.

No answer.

Obviously, even if it was them—and he was trying to convince himself it was not—they wouldn't know it was him knocking, so they wouldn't know to avoid it. _No-one's here._ Rather than stand around in the hallway looking suspicious, he decided to head back to his own room for a while.

 _They'll have to come back eventually._

Jack and Rose were on their way up the elevator just as Cal was heading down in the other one.

….

Cal slipped back down to their room a little after six o'clock. He knocked again, but this time something unexpected happened. The door swung open. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Cal quickly stepped inside.

 _An hour earlier_

"Why won't you tell me where we're going?" Rose asked as she slipped into her shoes.

"Because it's a surprise."

"Will I like it?"

"Hope so." He took her hand. "Do you trust me?"

"What?" Rose was confused. "Haven't we gone over this?"

"Then close your eyes," he said.

She closed her eyes.

He led her to a small bar in the Village. It wasn't visible from the street. To get to it they had to go down a set of stairs and into the basement of a building. Inside it was lit only by candles hanging from the ceiling. A bar ran the length of the back wall and tables were scattered around the main part of the room. When they got there, the place was crowded with dancing couples and groups.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now."

Rose was speechless at first. "Jack, this is incredible. How did you know about it?" she cried happily.

"I found it the last time I was in New York. I used to come in here and watch people," he explained.

"Did you watch many women?" Rose arched an eyebrow.

"Not like that. C'mon let's sit down," he said heading toward an empty table."You know," he began once they were settled; "I haven't seen that many women." Rose shot him a disbelieving look. "Okay, so there were a few," he admitted. "That doesn't bother you, does it?"

Rose shook her head. "No, it doesn't bother me."

"I just don't want you to think I just went around chasing after naked girls before I met you."

"I never thought that, and besides, what you did before you met me doesn't matter," she said. "It's what you do now that I care about. If there were other men in my past, would it bother you?"

"No," he said. "You have a right to that. I just want to be the only man in your future."

"You are," she said with a smile.

"You are so wonderful," he said returning the smile. "Would you care to dance with me?"

They danced for hours. Lost in the motion and the music they forgot everything else in the world existed. Eventually, though, reality caught up with them.

"I think my legs are numb," Rose laughed, dropping into a chair.

"Mine too." Jack dropped into the chair beside her. "Should we go?"

"That might be a good idea."

"Okay." Jack pulled himself out of the chair and offered Rose his hand.

They were quiet on the walk back to the hotel. Outside the door Rose looked up and noticed the moon was full. "Jack look," she said happily, pointing at the moon.

"Wow."

"It's beautiful."

" _You're_ beautiful," Jack said.

There wasn't much conversation after that. Hands clasped they quickly made their way to the elevator.

….

Cal turned on the light and looked around the room. There wasn't anything of much interest. Whoever was staying there didn't have any luggage, and that was odd. He was just about to give up and leave when he noticed the closet.

 _Might as well_ , he thought.

Quickly, he crossed the room and pulled open the closet door. All he saw were a few pieces of clothing on hangers. A folded black coat sat on the shelf above the clothes rack. "This was a waste of time," he said with a sigh. He was about to leave when one of the hangers caught his eye. It was just a dress, and all dresses were the same to him, but something about this one looked familiar. He reached out and removed the hanger from the rack. Holding the dress out in front of him, he realized why the dress looked familiar.

He had no idea how long he had been standing there staring at the dress when his shock was broken by the sound of voices. Not wanting to be discovered—how would he explain what he was doing?—he grabbed the closet door and pulled it so that it only remained open a crack.

Jack and Rose were too engrossed in each other to notice the door was unlocked and the light was on. They stumbled into the room, arms wrapped around each other, locked in a kiss. Jack kicked the door closed as Rose began pulling him toward the bed. She dropped onto it and brought him down with her. "I think you're the eager one now," he teased sliding his hands across her back.

Cal couldn't believe what he was seeing. There they were, right in front of his eyes. How were they alive? He chased them down into a sinking ship. Where could they have gone? Even if they did manage to get back to the deck, how could they have survived that water? He didn't have time to ponder the situation; what was happening took all of his attention. Rose was kissing him. Kissing that rat. She wasn't just kissing him. She was all over him. She was letting him put his hands all over her body.

"Maybe," she whispered kissing his ear. Jack sighed. He gently began to push Rose onto her back. "Come here," she mock commanded looking up at him.

"In a moment, miss," Jack replied in his haughty servant voice. He walked over to the desk between the bed and the closet. He reached into the middle drawer and pulled out a sheet of blank paper. "May I?" he asked turning to face her. Rose smiled and nodded.

 _That bitch,_ Cal thought, disgusted. _That whore._ _She would let someone like him touch her; she would like it when he touched her, and yet she was disgusted when I came anywhere near her._

Jack turned back to the desk and began looking for something to draw with. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a flicker of movement in the tiny space between the closet door and the wall.

 _You're hallucinating_ , he told himself. Yet he turned to Rose and said, "I can't find a pencil. Would you go downstairs and ask for one?"

Rose stared at him for a moment, puzzled. "Sure." She smoothed her rumpled dress and headed out the door.

Cal had always rationalized Rose's lack of interest in him sexually as excessive modesty. He told himself she was just too feminine, too much of a lady, but now he saw that wasn't true. _Common little slut._ He was so lost in his rage he didn't notice when Jack sent Rose out of the room.

 **AN: Wow, this one got a lot of editing. Also, like 14 chapters have been condensed into 2. I don't know what I was thinking back then.**


	3. Chapter 3

Jack didn't give himself time to think about what he was doing. He took hold of the doorknob and yanked the closet door open. He wasn't sure what he expected to see, but Cal twisting Rose's dress in his hands was definitely not it. He didn't let himself become overwhelmed by his shock. In one quick motion he grabbed Cal by the shirt collar, dragged him out of the closet and slammed him against the wall. He pressed his right forearm into Cal's neck.

Cal couldn't believe what was happening. He was too surprised to fight back at first.

"What in goddamned hell were you doing?" Jack asked. His voice was quiet yet held a menacing undertone.

"Well," Cal gasped, somehow managing to keep his usual arrogant tone, "I had to see if the rumors were true, and I must say that damned stupid woman babbling about you two almost got it right."

Jack added more weight to the arm pressing into Cal's neck. "'Almost got it right'—what are you talking about?"

"She did say a certain woman could pass for a lady, but we both know that's not true," he said smirking.

The last syllable had barely left Cal's mouth when Jack's fist collided with his face. Jack shook with rage; he'd never wanted to just hurt anyone so badly in his life. The full force of his anger was overwhelming. _You can't let yourself be just as bad as he is,_ he told himself. _You can't_.

Cal stared at Jack in disbelief. He was shocked by how much it hurt. It was the first time anyone had ever hit him. "I didn't think you had it in you," he said, almost impressed.

"Just because I don't feel the need to go around hitting people all the time doesn't mean I can't," he spat. "I'm not like you."

"You could never be like me," Cal sneered.

"No, I couldn't," Jack said shaking his head. "I'm better than you."

Cal laughed. "The only thing you're better at is getting my fiancée to let you fuck her—"

Jack's fist slammed into Cal's face again, knocking him to the floor. Bending over his prostrate body, Jack hit him again.

And again.

"Don't you ever talk about my wife like that again," he yelled between swings. "Don't you ever even talk about her at all! Don't you even think about her, do you hear me, goddamnit?"

Suddenly, he realized he was out of breath; his right hand was numb. The rest of his body shook. Cal looked up at him, eyes wide with fear. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him for a moment like that. He wasn't sure what to do. Part of him said to get out of the situation, but another part—a part more accustomed to getting its way—refused to admit defeat.

"Just imagine if she'd seen that," he taunted. "I doubt you'd look much better than me."

Jack took a deep breath. "She's too smart to compare me with you."

"You think so?"

"I could never do anything like that to her," Jack said with conviction. "I will never do anything like that to her. She knows that."

Cal slowly began to stand up. The full force of Jack's attack began to hit him as he tried to balance himself. His head was pounding, and he was almost certain he could feel his face swelling. His mouth tasted like blood.

"That's why you think you're better than me?" he asked.

"That's part of why I _know_ I'm better than you."

Cal just smirked and stepped past Jack. When he got to the door he turned around. "You will never even be as good as me let alone better," he hissed. "As far as she's concerned, well, maybe if she'd shown me what kind of whore she really is we would have gotten along better." Just as Jack was swinging at his head one last time he slipped out the door, slamming it behind him.

Jack just stood there frozen, staring at the door. He didn't know what else to do. _What if he's right?_ Jack pushed the thought away. Cal was not right about anything. Cal was just trying to get to him. _Well, he did._ Silently Jack told himself to shut-up. He flexed his right hand. It hurt, but it wasn't swollen or bruised. _I won't have to tell her,_ he thought. Except, he had to tell her, didn't he? How could he keep something like this from her? She had a right to know.

 _You think that's a good idea?_

He was spared any further internal debating because at that moment the door opened, and Rose stepped hadn't realized how much his feelings were written on his face until Rose looked at him. She silently set down the small box in her hand and moved toward him. "Jack, what's wrong?" she asked. He didn't answer. He half-heartedly opened his mouth but quickly closed it again as Rose enveloped him in her arms. He buried his face in her curls, hugging her tightly. "Jack, say something." Her voice trembled slightly.

"I—" he began. The words got caught in his throat.

"Are you crying?" she whispered.

"I think I might be," he said into her hair.

"Why? What could possibly have happened in the five minutes I was gone?"

Jack lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "I love you," he said slowly. "I sent you downstairs a few minutes ago because I thought I saw someone in the closet, and I wanted you out of here while I checked. I was right."

"Who?"

"Cal."

"What?" she cried.

Jack nodded. "Yeah."

"How did he get in here? How did he know where—how did he know we weren't dead?" Rose asked.

Jack gently took her face in his hands. "I don't know, but he will never come that close to you again. Rose, I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

Tears filled Rose's eyes. "What if he doesn't leave us alone?" The image of Cal chasing them with a loaded gun flashed before her eyes.

Jack pulled her into his arms. "Do you trust me?"

"You know it isn't you I don't trust."

"Then trust that no matter what he might try to do, I will be there to stop it."

…..

Cal stomped into his room, slamming the door behind him. What had just happened was completely inexcusable. He allowed himself to lose the upper hand. That would not happen again. As his mind slowly began to return to normal he noticed blood on his shirt collar. His anger began to rise again. He took a deep breath; no sense in losing control if he could help it. Losing control hadn't gotten him anywhere so far.

He silently stripped down and stepped into the shower. It would have been easier to just change shirts and wash his face, but that wouldn't have been quite cleansing enough. He wanted to scrub away the humiliation.

…..

Ruth sat stiffly at a small table in the hotel lounge. It was 8:15 and Cal still wasn't there. She sat there for another five minutes, and just as she was about to give up and leave, Cal hurried in. He strode over to her table and sat down in the chair opposite her. "I thought perhaps you weren't coming," she said.

"I got held up by some unexpected difficulties."

"I see. What exactly did you want to speak to me about? I can't fathom what there could be for us to discuss since obviously you can't marry Rose now that she's dead." She spoke matter-of-factly, carefully hiding any pain she might have felt.

Cal looked slightly taken aback at the mention of Rose's name, but he quickly recovered his composure. "Well, you're right. I can't possibly marry her now. It's probably best if we don't see each other for a while," he said.

Ruth nodded. She had been expecting this. There was no reason for her to be around anymore.

"Yes, that would be best," she said as she stood up. "I apologize for the, well, the inconvenience of everything." She paused. Was inconvenience the right word for it? Should she have just said, "I apologize for my daughter's stupidity"? "I wish I could have done more to influence Rose's decisions," she finished.

As Ruth began to make her way toward the door, Cal said, "I said it was impossible for me to marry her now. I never said it was impossible because she was dead."

Ruth froze.

….

Jack and Rose lay on the bed, wrapped in each other's arms. Jack hadn't explained his encounter with Cal in detail. He felt there were some things it was up to him to protect her from and that was one of them, but just knowing that Cal was close by was enough to completely unnerve Rose.

She hadn't been particularly afraid of him until that last night on the _Titanic_ , what he had done had left her terrified of him. She hated herself for it, but she knew he was a dangerous man. He would hurt and even kill them if he got the chance. Rose's head rested on Jack's chest, just below his chin. "I can hear your heart beating," she whispered.

Jack smiled into her hair. He kissed the top of her head. "It makes me feel safe," she continued. "I hear it, and I know you're still there."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I'll never leave you. You don't have to be afraid of living without me."

"What if you didn't have a choice?"

"Rose, look at me."

She lifted her head and tilted it up so she was looking into his face. "Nothing is going to come between us. Nothing is going to separate us," he said slowly. "I won't let that happen. I know you're scared, and I know it's because you think Cal might try something, but I want you to trust me. Can you do that?"

Rose's voice shook slightly, "I do trust you. I already told you it's him I don't trust."

"Don't worry about him. That's what he wants." He shifted his body into a sitting position, bringing Rose up with him. He took her face in his hands and pressed his forehead against hers. "Rose, listen to me," he continued, "all he cares about is power. If we're afraid of him we're letting him control us. We can't do that. He doesn't deserve that. Please, just try not to worry about him. We're leaving the day after tomorrow, and we'll never see him again. All we have to do is avoid him until then, okay?"

"Okay," Rose's voice was steady. "I wish I weren't afraid, Jack, I really do. I just don't know what I'd do without you. I'm not strong like you, I guess."

"Don't ever say that," he said forcefully. "Don't even think it. You're so strong, and maybe you can't see it right now but I can. A weak person couldn't have done what you did. You walked away from the only life you'd ever known—you almost died—to be with me. Our situation might be a little crazy, but it isn't one a weak person would enter into."

"It is kind of crazy. That's why I trust it," Rose replied, looking into his eyes.

Jack leaned forward and kissed her. His hands found their way from her face to the small of her back. Rose deepened the kiss. She twisted her hands in his soft blonde hair and pulled him closer. He broke the kiss. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" he asked, slightly out of breath. Rose nodded quickly and reclaimed his mouth. After a few seconds he pulled away again. "Are you sure? You were upset—"

"Jack," she said calmly interrupting him. "Don't think about anything but making love to me."

Before he could answer she lay back on the bed and pulled him onto her.

Jack did as he was told.

….

Ruth turned to face Cal. "What are you talking about?" she hissed. "What other reason could there be? She is dead, after all." How dare he mock the situation!

"Are you sure?" he asked calmly. He hadn't planned to tell Ruth about his discovery, but when he saw her start walking away, something told him to. _She can be his whore in practice and by law—but she won't be happy. I'll see to that._

"What do you mean am I sure? I saw her run back onto a sinking ship. If she'd survived, wouldn't she have found me?" Ruth asked shrilly.

Cal smiled to himself. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? But what if," he leaned forward, "she is alive, and she just hasn't chosen to tell you?"

Ruth's head spun. Rose was alive? Where? How did Cal know about it if she was? And why couldn't she still marry him if she was? _Unless he won't have her now,_ she thought. "What do you know?" Ruth was calm. No use in causing a scene.

"I know a lot of things," Cal said. "I know Rose is alive. I know where she is—"

"You do?" Ruth exclaimed. "How?"

Cal was annoyed at being interrupted. "You didn't let me finish. That's not all I know. I also know that your daughter, my lovely former fiancée, has already managed to get herself married to someone else. Any idea who that someone else might be?"

Ruth felt sick.

…

She needed him close. She needed to feel the weight of his body against hers, to wrap herself so tightly around him nothing could ever separate them.

He needed her to trust in his ability to protect her—and himself.

…

Ruth's stomach was tied up in knots. Her hands trembled slightly. _He can't mean it_ , she told herself. _No. No. No_. She struggled to keep her voice even, "Surely you don't mean…" She didn't want to finish the sentence. Saying it out loud was simply too much for her. _She couldn't have._

"Oh, but I do," Cal said, standing up. "She didn't just run away with him. She made it official—and permanent." With that, he turned and left the room.

Ruth's mind overflowed with questions. . How could she have done it? How could she have been so stupid? What was she thinking? What could he have possibly said to her? She didn't have an answer for any of them. _He caused this,_ she thought bitterly.

…..

Jack watched Rose sleep, her head cradled in the crook of his arm. There was a trace of a smile on her face. He wondered briefly what she was dreaming about.

He wondered if he would ever fall asleep.

For a time his mind had been free, with no doubt or worry, but that hadn't lasted. _At least she's feeling better,_ he told himself. Her voice echoed in his mind—"It's not up to you to save me, Jack." He heard himself answer, "You're right. Only you can do that," Did that still apply? She had saved herself, hadn't she? Wasn't it up to him now?

 _She won't let it be up to you._

Jack sighed. He knew it was true. Neither of them would ever let the other shoulder the burden of anything.

Carefully he slid his body away from Rose and climbed out of the bed. If he couldn't sleep he needed to do something to keep his mind occupied. Silently he collected a sheet of paper and a pencil. He sat down at the desk and began to draw.

It seemed to Jack that he finished his drawing much faster than usual. He laid it aside and considered trying to sleep again, but knew it would be impossible. He quickly got dressed, hoping a walk might help settle his mind. He gave Rose a gentle kiss before he crept out the door.

He walked the streets of New York for over an hour, just wandering aimlessly. Normally he noticed everything around him, but that night he noticed nothing. He only wanted to exhaust himself completely. Jack tried to silence his internal voice, but it refused to be quiet.

 _You'll just have to deal with this tomorrow if you don't now. What will you do if she wakes up still afraid? What will you do if you can't convince her everything will be alright?_

But the more chilling question was: _How can you be so sure it will be alright?_

Jack had never had to worry about another person before. For five years he had only had to answer to and be responsible for himself. His actions affected only him. If something happened to him there would be no-one to care. No-one to remember he had even existed.

Those days were over, and now he had Rose to consider. She would be affected by every decision he made. If something happened to him she would be left alone in the world. He knew some men would run away from that, but he couldn't. He wasn't mourning the loss of his freedom, though. He knew he had found something better. He had found someone to love. He had found someone he could share his adventures with, someone who gave his life a purpose, a meaning. He could never walk away from Rose. From the moment he had approached her when she was hanging of the railing of the _Titanic_ he'd known he didn't have the ability to walk away from her.

He stopped walking when he realized he had somehow circled back to the hotel. His mind wasn't quite settled yet, but he had a feeling it would be eventually. He couldn't say he knew how or why everything would be alright, but he felt it would be as long as he and Rose were together.

 _We can get through anything._

He quickly crossed the lobby and made his way to the elevator.

At the same time Ruth was slumped in her chair in the lounge. She had given up caring, at least temporarily, what other people might be saying or thinking about her. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Her life was over. It had been easier to bear when she believed Rose was dead. It's much more difficult to blame and possibly hate the dead for their actions, but now that she knew Rose was alive, things were different.

Had the elevator come sooner she wouldn't have seen him, but right at the exact moment before the doors opened and he stepped inside, Ruth turned her head slightly. There he was. Standing not ten feet away. Before she realized what she was doing, she screamed. It was more like a howl; it was the kind of sound a desperate animal might make. It was late so there weren't many people still about, but the few who were immediately turned to see what had made such an awful sound, Jack included.

For a moment he didn't know who the woman staring at him, eyes blazing with hatred and nose wrinkled in disgust, could possibly be. Then he recognized her. He wanted to run. He wanted to dive into the open elevator and disappear from her sight completely, but he didn't. Disappearing wouldn't make her forget she had seen him. He was still deciding what to do when he realized Ruth was rapidly coming toward him.

"You!" she yelled as she neared him. Jack wasn't sure what how to respond. "You!" she yelled again, pointing at him this time. "You did all of this!"

By that point the people in the lobby as well as the lounge were beginning to gather around the unfolding scene. Jack found his voice. "What?"

"You know what I'm talking about," she hissed. "Don't act like you don't. Things were perfect before you came along. She met you and—" Ruth faltered. She just couldn't say it.

"And what?" Jack snapped.

"And she completely lost sight of what's important! She believed whatever you said to her, and she threw away her entire life—for nothing!"

"I love her!" Jack shouted. He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but it happened before he was aware of it. Ruth's eyes widened. "I love her, do you understand that?" he continued. "She chose to be with me because that's what she wanted. She agreed to marry me because that's what she wanted. A life with me is what she wants. She loves me." Jack sighed heavily. The exhaustion he had been searching for had finally hit him.

"You love her?" Ruth mocked. "You told her you love her, and she just agreed to marry you? For no other reason?" Her voice rose. "How stupid can she be?"

"She is not stupid!" Jack cut Ruth off before she could say anything else. "And she isn't weak or selfish or anything else you'd care to call her. I don't give a damn what you think or say about me, but I won't let you or anyone else talk about her like that! If you knew the first thing about her, if you cared about her at all you'd know she made the right choice. You'd see how much happier she is with me."

"It would be as simple as that to someone like you," Ruth spat.

Jack shook his head. He didn't say anything else. He just turned and stepped onto the still waiting elevator while the attendant stared straight ahead, pretending he hadn't been watching the exchange.


	4. Chapter 4

Rose rolled over and reached for Jack, but he wasn't there. She opened her eyes to see his side of the bed empty. She shot up, afraid of what could have happened while she slept. Her heart racing, she looked around the room for a sign of him, but there was none. His clothes were even gone. Taking a deep breath she willed herself to be calm. There was no need to panic. Jack was a grown man. He was quite capable of taking care of himself. Besides, what could have possibly happened that she would have slept through?

She climbed out of bed. There would be no getting back to sleep again until he came back, no matter what she told herself. She quickly dressed. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the sheet of paper on the desk. Stepping closer she saw it was a drawing of her sleeping. "It's beautiful," she said aloud to herself. She was startled out of her thoughts by a sharp knock on the door. Without thinking, it was like a reflex really, she crossed the room and opened the door.

And found herself face to face with Cal. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. Her mind raced.

"Why, it's good to see you too," he said. His pleasant tone held a hint of venom.

"What are you doing here?" she asked calmly, determined to not let him see her fear.

"Oh, I just came to tell you about a very interesting conversation I had with your mother." Cal glanced behind her and into the room. His eyes took in the unmade bed and the drawing on the desk. Bringing his gaze back to Rose he noticed her mussed hair. "Looks like you've had plenty to do this evening," he said icily. Rose glared at him. "Tell me, where is that lucky husband of yours?" She didn't answer. Cal took a step toward her, forcing her to take a step back. "Won't tell or don't know?"

"Why would I tell you anything?" Rose asked angrily.

"I could make you," he said, taking another step forward.

Rose didn't know what to do. She took another step back as Cal moved closer. He was just past the doorway. She didn't know how to get him out. She was no match for him physically. _You are not scared_ , she told herself harshly. _You can deal with this. You have to deal with this._

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, mustering up all the authority she could.

Cal smirked. "Whatever I want," he said, pushing the door closed.

Rose held onto her resolve. "I don't know what that means, and I don't care. Get out!"

"Make me." He took another step toward her. "Or can't you?"

Rose didn't answer. "There's not a lot you can do by yourself, is there?" he taunted, grabbing her wrists and pulling her to him. "He's not here to save you." Rose struggled to free her arms, but Cal's grip was like iron. She twisted her body in an attempt to somehow throw him off balance. It didn't work. He laughed. He released her wrists and took hold of her shoulders.

"Did you really think it would be that easy?" he spat. "Did you really think you could just get away with humiliating me?" His voice rose into a yell. "Did both of you really think you could just make a fool out of me and walk away?"

Rose was terrified. She didn't know what he might do, or what she could do to stop it. She hoped he would get caught up in his rant and loosen his grip—let his attention slide away from her for just a moment—giving her the chance she needed. She couldn't win against him in a fight, but she might be able to outrun him.

 _I wish Jack were here._

Cal shook her. "Are you listening to me?"

"How could I not be? You're yelling like a spoiled child!" she snapped. She knew it was the wrong thing to do, but she couldn't help it. She wasn't going down without a fight.

Cal's face twisted with rage. Before Rose had a chance to realize what was coming he had already hit her. His fist slammed into her face with a sickening thomp. Pain exploded in Rose's head. She tried desperately to hold back the urge to cry.

"I'll teach you to talk to me like that," he growled.

"I forgot you had a problem with honesty," Rose said quietly, bracing herself for the blow she knew was coming.

But it didn't come. She winced as Cal dug his fingers into her shoulders. "You'd like me to hit you again, wouldn't you?" he asked. Rose was confused, but she kept quiet. "Well, I'm not going to."

For a split second she felt a glimmer of hope, but it vanished as she felt him push her backwards.

 _No!_ her mind screamed. She couldn't let this happen. She kicked him in the chest, knocking him back, but he recovered almost instantly.

"Or maybe I will," he said through clenched teeth.

A few minutes later. Jack walked in the door to see Cal bent over Rose, his knee between her thighs. Her dress hung off one shoulder. Cal's hand was in the air, preparing to hit her.

Something in Jack snapped. He howled with rage and crossed the room in two steps. Before Cal had a chance to react, Jack's hands were around his throat. He lifted Cal into the air, tightening his grip. Cal's hands flailed, trying desperately to hit Jack.

Jack watched him struggle for a moment before throwing him to the ground. Cal landed in a gasping heap. Jack felt himself tremble. "You—" he struggled to form words. He bent down, grabbing Cal by the throat again. "What more do I have to do to make it clear to you to leave her alone?" he demanded.

Cal tried to speak, but Jack's hands around his throat made it impossible for him to produce anything but inarticulate gurgling sounds.

"No," Jack said quietly. His tone was menacing. "You don't get to talk anymore. All you get to do is walk away this one time. That's it. You get one chance to disappear forever. If you ever look at her, mention her name out loud, come near either of us at all, I will make sure you never have the chance to do it again. Do you understand that?" He began to yell. "I will kill you, got that? And I don't fucking care about who you are or what kind of power you might have. You do not scare me, and do you want to know why? Because you're a goddamned coward. You come after her when you should be coming after me, and when you do come after me you hide behind your money. You create diversions to get rid of me rather than just fight me yourself, but that's over. You will never get anywhere near close to her again while I'm around, and don't you even _think_ of coming after her again when she's alone." Jack exhaled heavily. He let go of Cal. "Go," he said.

Cal quickly scrambled to his feet. His mouth curled in a sneer, he silently stalked out of the room.

Jack's head dropped into his hands. It was almost too much for him. The sound of quiet crying snapped him back to reality. Rose was hugging herself, her face pressed against her knees. She had drawn them up against her chest. Jack's heart broke. "Rose," he said softly, taking a step toward her.

She raised her head slightly. "Jack." Her voice shook.

He quickly moved to her, gathering her huddled body into his arms. She let go of her knees and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. He could feel her tears through his shirt. It was something he never wanted to feel again. "I'm sorry," he said, holding back tears himself. "I'm so sorry, Rose. I failed you." He held her tighter. "I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to you, and I failed." He quietly began to cry. "I'm so sorry. I love you so much."

"It's not your fault," Rose whispered.

"What?"

"This wasn't your fault, Jack." She raised her head and looked into his face. "I wish you'd been here to stop it, but you weren't." She paused. "I know how badly you want to protect me, but maybe there are some things you just can't protect me from, and maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. The only way you could keep every bad thing away from me would be if you were with me every second, but you can't be. I just have to try to deal with some things on my own, and this was just not a situation I could deal with that well by myself. I needed you, but you couldn't have known that."

Jack stared at her intently, taking in everything she'd said. "You're so strong," he said finally.

Rose snorted bitterly. "I think you're mistaking me for someone who wasn't recently beaten and quite possibly almost raped."

Jack winced. He didn't want to think about what would have happened if he hadn't walked in when he did."No, I'm talking about you," he said. "I don't know how you do it, but I'm glad you do."

"You make me feel stronger than I ever thought was possible," Rose said, laying her head against his chest. "I don't think I could have fought him before I knew you."

"You fought him?"

"I tried, but it really only made things worse."

Jack kissed her hair. "I will never let him get near you again."

"After what you did, I doubt he'll want to get near me again."

"Did that—when I—" he struggled to find the right words. "You know I would never hurt you, right?"

Rose nodded. "I know."

"I just don't want you to ever think I could do anything like that to you."

"I'm not worried about that," Rose reassured him.

They didn't say much after that. Eventually they fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, hoping the next day would be better.

…

They didn't leave their room at all the next day. They didn't ever discuss why they weren't leaving; they didn't need to. There was an unspoken agreement between them that it was the best thing to do. They spent the day just enjoying being together.

"What made you decide you wanted to be an artist?" Rose asked. She was lounging on the couch in their sitting room. Jack was concentrating on sharpening a pencil so it was exactly the way he wanted.

"I don't really know," he said, never taking his eyes off his task. "I don't remember ever consciously deciding that was what I wanted to be. It's more like that's what I always was in some way. Drawing is just something I've always done."

"I wish I had something like that," Rose said wistfully.

"What do you mean?"

"I wish I had something that I did. I wish there was something I was good at, some one gift. Like what you have," she said.

"I thought my gift was seeing people?"

"It is. That's why you're such a good artist."

Jack smiled. Rose's words made him feel warm inside. She believed in him so much. He wanted to succeed for her, but he wanted her to believe in herself too. "You must be good at something," he said.

Rose shook her head. "I don't think I am. I've never had anything I was interested in pursuing."

"What would you like to do?" Jack asked eager to hear her answer.

"I—"Rose stopped. "I don't know."

"You'll figure it out," Jack said reassuringly. "Eventually it will come to you."

"I hope you're right."

"Trust me."

"You ask me to trust you about an awful lot, do you realize that?" Rose asked half-seriously.

"An awful of things involves trust," Jack answered.

"Do you trust me?"

"What?" Jack was slightly taken aback.

"Do you trust me?" she asked again.

"Why would you ask that?"

"You've asked me so many times, but I've never asked you."

"But I told you I trust you, remember?" Jack pointed out. "And then I let you swing an ax at my hands."

"I didn't miss."

"No, you didn't," he said.

And for a moment they just gazed at each other, both certain they could somehow overcome anything as long as they were together.

…

Rose stood in front of the bathroom mirror, silently staring at herself. She didn't know how long she had been there when Jack came up behind her. "What're you doing?" he asked quietly.

"I was just looking," she answered.

"What do you see?"

"I see a woman."

"Very good." Jack smiled. "I'd be concerned if you saw something else."

Rose's reflection returned his smile. "I see more than that, though. I guess the best way to put it is, I think I'm starting to see me." Her reflection frowned. "That doesn't make much sense, does it?"

Jack shook his head. "No, it does, and it's a good thing." He put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. "I see you, and if you can even see a fraction of what I see…" He let the sentence dangle, unsure of how to finish it. He gazed into the mirror, enjoying the sight of their two reflections together. He tried to avoid looking at the large, black bruise on the left side of her face. It didn't make her any less beautiful, but it was a sharp reminder of his failure. Despite what she'd said, he still couldn't help but blame himself.

Rose noticed his eyes refused to travel to that part of her face. "Why are you doing that?"

"What?"

"You won't look at the left side of my face. Why not? Does it bother you?" she asked.

"No," Jack said. "No, that's not it. I just don't want to be reminded of you being hurt." He softly kissed her cheek. "You will always be beautiful to me."

Rose took his hand and raised it up to her face. Jack watched, unsure of what she was planning to do. She gently placed his fingertips on the bruised part of her face. "I know you don't want to think about it, but we can't ignore it. We can't let it control us, but we can't ignore it. Ignoring the bad things doesn't make them go away," she said. She let go of his hand.

He didn't lower it. Instead he covered the bruise with his palm. "I'm not trying to hide it," he said. "I just want to be able to feel it for you."

"No-one can do that," Rose said sadly. "I have to feel it for myself. I'm not a porcelain doll, and I never was." She turned her head and met Jack's eyes with her own. "But you saw that, didn't you?"

"I saw it."

She smiled and tilted her head up slightly, kissing him.

…..

The next morning Rose hopped out of bed at dawn. "Jack, wake up!" she cried, shaking him. "We're leaving today!"

Jack groaned. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. "We're not leaving until this afternoon," he said, his voice muffled.

"I know, but I'm just so excited." Rose did a short dance around the room. "We're really going…somewhere. We're going to finally begin doing everything we want to."

She was so caught up in her musings she didn't notice when Jack started watching her. "I guess it is exciting," he said. Her enthusiasm was contagious, no matter how much he would have liked to remain asleep.

"Just think of it Jack," she said, flopping down on the bed beside him. "We'll be free."

He smiled and gently touched her lips with his thumb. "Yes, we will be," he agreed. Rose kissed his thumb. He gave her a meaningful look. She shook her head.

"I need a bath," she said, climbing back off the bed and heading for the bathroom.

Left alone, Jack lay back and closed his eyes. He intended, of course, to stay awake but was fast asleep within seconds. The next thing he was aware of was a cool sensation on his ear. Gradually, he realized what he felt was Rose lightly kissing his ear. Without warning he rolled over and pulled her onto him. Rose laughed and tried to slide away, but he held her firmly.

"Is that any way to wake a person up?" he asked, feigning seriousness.

"Well, it must be," Rose teased. "I could have been worse, though."

"Oh really?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

"I could have done this." Rose kissed his throat.

"I don't know how I could have survived that," Jack said.

"It would have been even worse if I'd done this." She kissed his lips. Before she could pull away, Jack lightly pressed his hand against her hair, silently telling her to keep going.

"Jack," Rose whispered, barely pulling her mouth away from his, "We don't have time-"

She was too distracted by Jack's hand slowly traveling up her thigh to finish her sentence.

"What were you saying?" he asked, eyes wide with innocence.

"I—we—" Rose stammered. She had temporarily lost the ability to express coherent thoughts.

"Yes?" The ignorance in his tone and the location of his hand did not match up.

Rose gave him what could be termed a loving glare. "You aren't playing fair," she said. "So neither will I."

Jack wondered for a split second what she meant, but then he felt her fingertips graze his thigh.

Sighing he said, "You want to see unfair, huh?"


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out they had more time than Rose thought, but less time than either of them chose to notice. So they found themselves running, hand in hand through the streets of New York, hoping they didn't miss their train. Jack carried the only bag they had. Everything they owned except the clothes they were wearing—which were their wedding clothes—was inside it. It held the clothes they'd worn the last night on the Titanic, a handful of pencils, some paper, the drawing of Rose, and Cal's coat that Jack had added when Rose wasn't looking. He hoped she had forgotten about it. He didn't want to explain what he'd found yet nor was he eager for anything to remind her of Cal.

They made it to the train station, out of breath, but miraculously with ten minutes to spare. "Wow," Rose said. "I never realized how fast I could run before I met you."

"I just bring out the best in you," Jack replied.

They quickly found their platform and were preparing to board the train when Jack felt a pair of eyes boring into his back. He turned around and saw Ruth staring at him from another platform nearby. "What is it?" Rose asked, turning to see what he was looking at. "Oh," she gasped when her eyes landed on Ruth.

Ruth's expression was a mixture of shock and hatred. She came toward them, her mouth twisted in disgust. "How could you do that?" she shrieked as she neared them.

Rose was taken aback by her mother's outburst. She had never seen anything like it before. "What?" she said.

"Don't act like you don't know!" Ruth was almost hysterical.

Rose took a step back in an attempt to put some distance between herself and her mother. Jack squeezed her hand. His silent support calmed her nerves, allowing her to find the strength she needed."Surely, mother, you don't mean how could I marry Jack," Rose said calmly.

Ruth's eyes looked dangerously close to popping out of their sockets. "That's exactly what I mean! How could you let him talk you into throwing your life away?"

"Seeing as I'm alive it looks as though I still have a life," Rose snapped. "And he didn't talk me into doing anything. Everything I've done since I met him was my choice."

"Did you ever stop to think about your future?" Ruth wailed.

"I did. I thought about what it would be like to fall asleep every night in the arms of a man I truly love." Jack smiled at her. She flashed him a quick smile in return.

"That's what you thought about?" Ruth was disgusted. "You didn't think about what you were trading for this—this—grand love of yours? You would have been secure for the rest of your life! You would have never wanted for anything!"

"Except happiness."

Ruth just stared at her.

"You don't get it," Rose said. "I don't care about the money, the security or anything else that goes along with it. I would rather be completely penniless with Jack—who could never hurt me—than have all the riches in the world with Cal—whom I have to thank for this." She pointed at the bruise on her face.

"You only have yourself to thank for anything he may have done to you," Ruth said.

Jack's body tensed. An outraged "How-" was all he could get out before Rose shushed him.

"No, Jack. There's a train we need to be on right now." She looked at Ruth. "Good-bye mother, for the last time." And with that she and Jack turned and boarded their train, leaving Ruth standing on the platform, stunned beyond comprehension.

They said little to each other for the first hour after the train left New York. Rose was staring into the space in front of her, concentrating on something only she could see. Occasionally she would murmur something to herself or sigh. Jack wasn't bothered by her silence. He suspected she was processing the encounter with her mother and would talk when she was ready. He occupied himself by sketching the people around him. "How could she say that?" Rose exclaimed suddenly.

Several people turned to look at her, curious about the unexpected outburst. Jack shifted his attention from his drawing, ready to hear whatever else she needed to say. "I mean it," Rose said, looking at him. "I don't understand. I've been going over it and over it in my mind this whole time and it just—it just baffles me." Her body was tense and so was her tone.

Jack didn't answer right away. "I want to believe that she wanted what she thought was best for you," he said carefully. "I don't think her idea of what was best was right," he quickly added, "because it wasn't at all. It seems like she's angry because she believes you gave up something that to her is absolutely essential. She doesn't understand how you could do that, and maybe she's a little jealous."

Rose stared at him for a moment. "It all makes so much more sense when you say it," she said, letting out a short, frustrated laugh.

"It's a complicated situation," Jack said gently.

"I suppose it is." Rose gave him a small smile. "I just wish it was a little less so. I don't want anything about either of us to change, but I want….other people to change, maybe."

Jack took Rose's hand. "I don't think there's any way to make that happen," he said sadly. "If a person wants to change they can, but we can't make them."

"I know. I've never had a good relationship with my mother; not having her in my life doesn't bother me as much as I guess it should, but I can't get over what she said about my deserving the things Cal did." She shook her head and looked down into her lap. "I just keep coming back to that."

Jack lifted her face up. "Don't you start believing that," he said forcefully. "Don't you ever believe that, not even for a second. I don't know if she really thinks it's true, but it doesn't matter, okay?" He brushed the curls back from her face. "I'm willing to say your mother had her reasons for pushing you to marry him, and I'm willing to say she thought she was doing the right thing. I can see why, from her perspective, I am the worst person you could have married, but she is wrong about whose fault it was that Cal hurt you. No-one should be blamed for that except him. No-one who cared about you at all could have done the things he did."

When Jack stopped to breathe he noticed tears glistening in Rose's eyes. "I love you, Jack," she said quietly.

Jack engulfed her in a tight hug. "I love you too. And we don't ever have to see or think about any of them ever again," he added, releasing her. "It's you and me and the horizon now."

The rest of that day and the following one were uneventful. Rose did a lot of napping, and Jack enjoyed his usual round of people watching. There really wasn't much else they could do, and just when the monotony was starting to get to both of them, the conductor announced they were about to reach their destination. A few minutes later the train pulled into the station in Smithfield, Virginia.

Rose breathed a heavy sigh of relief. It would be nice to walk around outside again. She stretched her arms out above her head and prepared to get off the train at the first possible chance. Beside her Jack was making sure everything was still in their bag. "What do we have that anyone would steal?" Rose joked.

Jack's eyes flickered for a moment, as though her comment had triggered something. "Nothing," he replied. "I just—you know, felt like checking."

"Oh, okay," Rose said, slightly confused. He was behaving oddly, but she couldn't figure out why. _Does he think I'm upset about our lack of things?_ She didn't have time to ponder the matter any further; her mind was completely occupied by their descent from the train and into the crowded, unfamiliar train station.

Rose was overwhelmed by just how many people were there. Traveling had always been such a simple affair in the past. Everyone was taken care of separately, and she had never had to navigate her way through a thick crowd before. Jack noticed her eyes were taking in everything around them. "You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes. It's just all so new."

"You'll get used to it," he said with a smile. He held out his hand, and she took it, grateful to have something to hold onto. After they left the station they just wandered around for a while, not entirely sure what to do next.

"So, what would you be doing right now if I wasn't here?" Rose asked.

"Honestly, I'd probably be doing something similar to this."

"Really?" Rose hid her disappointment that he hadn't answered with something more exciting.

"Yeah. I'd just be walking around, exploring, kind of getting a feel for wherever it is I am. You can see a lot doing that."

"You can?" Rose was intrigued.

"Sure. Look over there." He pointed at a couple standing near the corner across the street from them.

"What about them?"

"They're not supposed to be together. That's some kind of affair."

"How can you tell?" Rose asked, amazed.

"Look at their body language. See how she keeps turning her head and checking as though she expects someone to come running up at any moment?" Rose nodded. "And see how he's kind of holding himself away from her, like he's afraid to touch her?"

"I see it," she said.

"That's basically how you can tell."

"Oh."

"What?" he said.

"I don't think I would have noticed all that."

"It's okay," Jack said. "I might be the only one crazy enough to think watching strange people is fun."

"You're really good at it."

"You think so?"

"I do."

Jack squeezed her hand. He hadn't ever thought about the way he noticed things about people before. He just knew he had always done it, but then Rose came along and told him it was a gift. It made him feel good for some reason to hear her say that.

"Would you be doing anything else?" she asked.

Jack thought for a second. "Well, if I didn't have anything else to do I might go find someplace to just sit and draw whatever's going on around me, but you'd probably not enjoy that."

"No, I would!" Rose said excitedly.

"Would you really?"

"Oh yes."

"Let's do it then," Jack said happily.

An hour later they were settled under a large tree in the middle of the city's park. They could see children playing—and their nurses and/or mothers watching from a row of benches—people by themselves stretched out in the grass reading and couples strolling by. Rose enjoyed just being able to relax and observe others. She had nowhere to be and nothing to do. She could just lean against the tree trunk and feel at ease.

Beside her Jack was busy sketching. He had settled on a couple not far from them—a well-dressed dark haired man and blonde woman. They were sitting on a bench next to a fountain. They seemed to be lost in each other. They reminded him of Rose and himself. Just as he was finishing up the drawing a shadow fell across the paper. Jack looked up and into the face of the man from the couple he was drawing.

The man smiled. "Hello," he said. "I noticed you were drawing us."

"Um, yeah, I was," Jack said. He was a bit nervous, but he didn't let it show.

"Well, I just wanted to know if we could see it."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, sure." Jack hastily handed the paper to the man, who studied it intently.

"This is really impressive," he said finally.

"Thanks," Jack said appreciatively. "It's a compulsion."

"Well, keep it up whatever it is. Would you be willing to let me buy this?"

"Yeah, if you want." Jack was startled by the man's question.

"I do. Would, uh," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills, "Would twenty dollars be enough?"

Jack's head spun. "That would be…great," he said stammered.

"Okay."

And just like that the strange man handed Jack a crisp twenty dollar bill, took the drawing, and left. Jack leaned back against the tree and stared at the money in his hand. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Jack that was amazing."

He looked over at Rose. She was staring at him, awestruck. "I guess it was," he said slowly.

Rose laid her head on his shoulder. "I said you were gifted."

"You were right," he said, putting his arm around her. "So, why don't we take this, find somewhere to stay and something to eat—and then we can find some fresh clothes."

"We don't have to do all of that," Rose said. "We have clothes."

"We have _Titanic_ disaster clothes and wedding clothes. I'm talking about something that doesn't hold an ocean's worth of memories."

"Well, if you put it that way…"

Jack kissed her hair. "Then you have to go along with me."

…

"Jack, no," Rose protested. She stood in front of a full-length mirror, staring at her reflection in the dress Jack had insisted she try. It was a light yellow that set off her flaming hair perfectly. It was a simple yet beautiful, but Rose was having none of it.

"Why not?" Jack stepped directly behind her. "See how good we look together?" he said, pointing at their two reflections.

Rose sighed. "I see it," she admitted unhappily.

"Then why not this one?"

"Because it's—it's too much. I couldn't—"

"You can."

"Jack, I can't. We can't. We shouldn't." Rose was becoming slightly incoherent.

Jack laid his hands lightly on her arms. "Don't worry about it."

"But—" she protested.

"Don't."

"You don't think you have to give me things, do you?" Rose asked anxiously.

"I don't think that," Jack said. "I've never thought that, but I do _want_ to give you things."

"You do?"

"I do. And I will," he said.

"But I don't need—" she began.

"I know that, but I want us to have the best life possible. I know money isn't the key to happiness, which is good because we'll probably never really have that much—" he smiled, a small just slightly bitter smile, "But I want us to use what we do have. And right now I want us to use it for this. Will you let us do that?"

Rose knew she couldn't argue with him. "Alright." Jack's face broke into a grin. He gave her a quick hug. "But," she added as he was letting go, "we have to dress you now."

Once they were finally finished buying clothes they went in search of a place to stay. They found a small hotel room for a dollar a week but decided to only take it for two nights—that night and the next one.

The sun was setting as they entered their room. Jack deposited their bag and purchases on a table by the door. Rose fell backwards onto the bed, exhausted. She couldn't remember when she had ever walked so much in her life. "Come here," she commanded.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Is that an order?"

"That's a direct order," she said.

"Can't argue with that." He dropped down beside her. She rolled over onto her side, facing him. He reached out and lightly stroked her face. "What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly.

"You."

"What about me?"

"I was thinking about how you looked today when I watched you drawing," she said.

"How did I look?"

"I don't exactly know how to describe it," she said, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "There's this intense look you get—it's like nothing else exists. It's different from how you look at other times."

"I look bad at other times, huh?" Jack joked.

"Oh no," Rose said seriously. "You always look…" She couldn't find the word she wanted.

"Yes?" he teasingly pressed her to continue. "You were telling me something about how great I look?"

Rose didn't answer. Without warning she threw herself onto him, pushing him flat on his back, straddling him. "I believe you were teasing me when I was trying to say something nice about you," she said haughtily.

"Might have been. I really don't remember now," Jack said. "I'm feeling a bit distracted."

Rose slowly undid the button on his pants. "Only a bit?"

"A lot, actually."

"That's what I want to hear," she said. Rose reached around and began unbuttoning her dress. Jack's eyes were glued to her as she slid out of the top half. She had stopped wearing corsets completely, and this made for a more interesting sight. Jack slid his hands up her stomach, but she stopped him just as he was about to reach her breasts. "No," she said, taking hold of his wrists. "You don't get to do that yet."

"What do I get to do?" Jack asked as Rose set his hands down by his sides.

"You'll see."

She stood up and shrugged out of the rest of her dress. Jack's eyes followed her every movement. He wanted to touch her so badly. She reclaimed her former position. Jack's hands moved toward her legs. "Remember what I told you," she said, taking hold of his wrists again. She leaned forward and kissed him. He raised his head and tried to deepen the kiss, but the further he went forward the further she pulled back.

She giggled. "You want me quite badly, don't you?"

"Is that what it looks like?" he asked.

"That's exactly what it looks like." She kissed him again, still holding his wrists. He tried to move his hands toward her anyway, hoping she would give in, but she didn't.

"Rose." He sighed.

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. "Jack."

He watched her intently, studying her face for any sign of her intentions. He found none. He watched as she took raised his hands to her lips and kissed them. He shivered. Her lips were cold against his hot skin. "I love your hands," she whispered, releasing them. Groaning, he grabbed her and flipped their positions. She moaned as his mouth traveled down her neck and to her throat. His hands frenziedly caressed her body. She felt him against her thigh. She slid a hand between their bodies and stroked him through his pants.

Jack moaned. "Rose." He pressed himself into her hand.

"You're much too overdressed," she whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

_Two Weeks Later_

Cal sat in his study, a post-dinner brandy in his hand. His life had finally begun to settle back into its usual routine, and he was quite pleased about that. The rest of the night stretched ahead of him like a blank canvas, but he didn't actually plan to do anything except relax.

And then his father walked in. "Caledon," he said, sitting down in the chair opposite Cal.

Cal's expression remained tranquil, exposing none of his displeasure about his father's arrival.

"Hello, father," he said pleasantly.

"I've been meaning to speak to you about something," Nathan said, leaning back into the chair. He took a sip of his drink.

Cal tensed. He hated when his father did this. "What about?"

"Well, I was waiting until that unpleasantness was behind us a bit, but I feel it's time I asked, what exactly happened to that necklace?"

Cal suddenly became very cold as the realization that he had completely forgotten about the necklace dawned on him. "I don't know," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Nathan demanded. "How could you just not know what happened to something that cost a small fortune?"

Cal was at a loss for words. "I gave it to her," he said. "I don't know what she did with it."

"And she's dead now, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"Such a shame," Nathan said, getting up to leave. He shot Cal a warning look. "Be more careful next time," he commanded. He was talking, of course, about the loss of the diamond.

After his father was gone, Cal allowed himself to begin panicking. Rose wasn't dead. She was out there somewhere, and she had that diamond. He had to find it. What if it turned up somewhere, and his father found out? Nathan was the only person he had ever feared. Even now, the thought of his father's temper made him nervous.

….

Jack rolled onto his side, rubbing his eyes. He wasn't quite awake yet, but he had passed the point of being able to fall easily back into sleep. Beside him Rose slept soundly, undisturbed by his movement. He watched her for a moment as the events of the past few weeks suddenly began running through his mind.

They'd left Smithfield on the morning of what would have been their third day there, and somehow they'd ended up in a small town in South Carolina. They may as well have been throwing darts at a map for all the planning their travels involved. Each day they explored somewhere new. Jack was noticing the way their life was changing Rose, and he liked it. He could see her growing into herself and becoming comfortable with the world. She had always been confident and had carried herself with a dignity and grace, but it had changed a little. He couldn't exactly say how, but it had. Almost as if she knew he was thinking about her, Rose began to stir. "What are you doing," she asked, opening her eyes.

"Just watching the most beautiful woman in the world sleep," he said.

"Oh really, when did she get here?"

"I'm not dignifying that with a response," Jack grinned.

"Fine." Rose sat up. "What are we doing today?"

"What do you want to do?"

Rose thought for a moment. "Let's just wander around and see where we end up."

"Alright," he answered.

While they were doing that, Cal was on the verge of pulling his own hair out. It had been four days since the talk with his father and he had yet to find Jack and Rose. He knew when and how they left New York. He knew where they had gone, but beyond that he knew nothing. It was as though they had dropped off the Earth. He was, however, determined to find them. They had to be somewhere, and there had to be someone who had seen them. He didn't like loose ends, and he couldn't believe he had been willing to just let them go off.

The rest of Jack and Rose's day was pleasantly uneventful. They rambled for miles, stopping occasionally to rest or for Jack to sketch something that grabbed his attention. He had a new portfolio that he carried with him wherever they went, and in only the few short weeks since they'd set out he'd nearly filled it. It was during one of their breaks that Rose first mentioned it. They were sitting in a large doorway. Jack was sketching a scene going on in front of them.

"You know what I think would be interesting?" she asked.

"What?" Jack didn't look up.

"To see how a painting of yours would look."

Jack looked at her. "Really?"

"Yes."

He was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "I've thought about it, but I've never tried it."

"You should try it," Rose said encouragingly.

Jack smiled. "I guess it couldn't hurt."

Jack woke up early the next morning and slipped out of their room. They planned to leave later that day so he had to hurry. Without counting Cal's money they had a little under thirty dollars. He'd been selling drawings here and there which had helped cushion their financial situation. Even so, he wasn't going to let his project jeopardize their tiny bit of security. He knew Cal's money was there, but he didn't want to use it unless he absolutely had to. As it turned out he needn't have worried. He found everything he needed for far less than he had anticipated.

He crept back into their room just as Rose was waking up. "Where did you go?" she asked, stretching her arms above her head.

"I decided to try something," he said. "And I want you to help me with it."

"What?" Rose's eyes lit up with curiosity.

Jack help up a small paintbrush. "You'll see."

…..

As the weeks passed they traveled further south. Neither of them mentioned it, but there was an unspoken agreement between them to stay where it was warm. Eventually they found themselves in Savannah, Georgia.

It was the beginning of June, and almost without realizing it they decided to stay there for the rest of the summer. Neither of them said it, but they both needed a rest from the constant moving about. Even when he had been alone Jack would stay somewhere for a few weeks from time to time. It was necessary to stay sane and to make sure the money didn't run out.

They somehow managed to find a cheap yet pleasant two room apartment. It was part of a much larger house that had once been quite grand but had gone down in the world over time. Their rooms were accessible both through a door that led down a set of stairs and into the rest of the house as well as through a door on the other side that opened onto set of stairs that led to the street. They had no kitchen, for which Rose was silently grateful as she had no real idea what she would have done in one, so they ate meals with the rest of the house's occupants.

Jack had been itching to do another painting since the first one he had done of Rose, so it wasn't long before stacks of them were leaning against the walls of their front room. "I don't know how you do it," Rose said, surveying the room in wonder.

"Well, it isn't too difficult," Jack replied. "First you take the brush and then you-"

"I know that!" Rose laughed, pushing him playfully.

"Hey, you said it."

"What I meant was, I don't know how you can create so many."

"Yeah, sometimes I wonder about that too," he said.

"You do?"

"I wonder if it won't stop one day," Jack said pensively, "if maybe there's only so much I can create and I'm about to use it up."

"I doubt that will happen."

Jack gave her a half-smile. "Thanks for the confidence."

"Always."

"There really are too many in here," he said, taking on a brisk tone.

"Where else is there to put them?" she said.

"I've been thinking about that, actually. There's no reason for us to keep them all, and we have to get money somehow."

"You want to sell them?" she asked, surprised.

Jack shrugged. "I want to try."

Secretly he was afraid to, but he didn't see any other option. He was afraid of what might happen if it turned out he really didn't have any talent. Looking at how Rose's eyes brightened at the prospect of someone else wanting something he'd created, he knew he couldn't tell her that. She believed in him completely, and he wanted desperately to live up to all the things she believed about him.

Every day they would claim a spot on the city's square. He would arrange about five of his paintings in a row in front of them, and each day he worked on a new one while she devoured a new book. At first nothing happened, but after they had been at it for a few days people started noticing—and buying.

Jack couldn't quite believe how many people were interested in his work. He stared in shock at people who handed him money in exchange for one of his paintings. Rose just looked on silently, her belief in his gift confirmed once again. Things went on like that for about a month until one day a dark haired man approached them. Jack recognized him immediately, but he wasn't sure from where until the man introduced himself.

"Hello," he said, extending his hand. "My name is Maxwell St. James. I believe I purchased a sketch from you a few months ago. You may not remember, it was in a little town in Virginia, I believe."

"I remember," Jack said incredulously.

Maxwell smiled. "Well, I don't mean to disturb you, but I'd been hearing some interesting things about a new artist in town. Your name sounded familiar and when I checked the drawing I knew why."

Jack nodded, dumbfounded. "So did you come all the way here just to—"

"Oh no, I live here. When we first met my wife and I were on our honeymoon. I'm a gallery owner, actually."

Jack couldn't believe his ears. Behind him Rose gasped.

Things began to move very quickly after that. As it turned out Maxwell was more than a mere gallery owner. He owned several, in fact, and he held a rather influential position in the American art world. He also believed quite strongly in Jack's talent. The following week he began showing Jack's work. At first nothing happened, but little by little people began to take notice. His work started becoming popular with some of the critics in the area.

Money began trickling in.

Jack sat cross-legged on the floor in the front room of their apartment. In front of him sat a stack of money that he could only stare at. _You earned that_ , he thought. _And you didn't just earn it. You earned it with your art._

He couldn't believe people were excited about his work. He couldn't believe people were giving him money for his work. It was something he'd always dreamed about but had never thought would actually happen. Just then Rose rushed into the room, a copy of the _New York Times_ clutched to her chest. "Jack!" she cried, throwing herself down beside him.

"What is it?" he asked, alarmed.

"Look!" She thrust the newspaper at him.

He took it. There was a short article she had circled with a red pen titled "An Extraordinary Talent Comes out of Nowhere", and it was all about him. He could barely read it his mind was moving so quickly. When he finally got through it, he looked up at Rose. "I don't know how this happened," he said in a dazed voice.

"I do," Rose replied with a smile. "I knew this would happen. I just didn't know it would happen so soon."

"You did?"

"Yes, I did. I believed in you. I still believe in you."

"But what if I had never amounted to anything?" he asked tentatively.

Rose just stared at him. "You were already everything. You didn't have to do or become anything else as far as I'm concerned. I want you to succeed for yourself, because you deserve it." She reached out and took one of his hands, lacing her fingers through his.

Jack covered their intertwined hands with his other one and looked down at then. "I get worried sometimes that I won't be able to give you the life I want to—the life you deserve. You believe in me so much, and I worry I won't be able to live up and you'll realize what little I can accomplish is nothing compared to what someone else could."

Rose cupped his chin and lifted his head so his eyes were looking directly into hers. "Don't ever think that," she said. "I fell in love with you because of who you are not because of what you had or didn't have and not because of what you might eventually have."

"I underestimate you too much, don't I?" Jack tried to turn the statement into a joke but failed.

Rose smiled a sad half-smile. "I don't think you intend to. I just think you've been told too many times that you aren't good enough—for me—for everything, really, but that isn't true. You said once you wished I could see myself the way you see me, well, I wish you could see yourself the way I see you." Jack didn't reply. He pulled Rose to him and held her tightly. She wrapped her arms around him, cementing their embrace.

Meanwhile someone else was reading the paper a few states away. A few weeks earlier, Cal had given up hope of ever finding them. He hated the idea that the diamond was out there somewhere, waiting to turn up again, but the insurance check had gone a long way toward easing his nerves. He was finally letting go of everything involved with _Titanic_. He was moving on, and he liked it. That incident was a black spot on his life that he simply wasn't going to think about ever again.

Until his eyes happened to fall on a certain article.

…..

Jack's popularity continued to increase, and with it so did the money that was coming in. He had no idea what to do with it. To him even the relatively small amount of wealth that he was accumulating seemed like a vast fortune. A vast fortune he had never expected or planned.

Rose silently watched everything that was going on. Some part of her had always known this was going to happen eventually. She loved seeing the look in Jack's eyes whenever someone complimented his work. However, she wasn't entirely without things to do herself. Reading had become her chief occupation. Before she had always longed for the time and freedom to explore politics and philosophy, but her interests had always been discouraged. She wasn't smart enough. It wasn't fit for a woman—and on and on. Her mother and Cal had always been annoyed by her intellectual leanings—and said so—but Jack loved that about her.

In the weeks since his success had begun they had developed a routine of sorts. While he painted, she read. Eventually they would take a break together and each would share whatever they had done and discovered. It was a good system. It allowed them to be together yet enjoy the time alone they both craved. The morning after Jack's article was printed; they were buried in their usual projects when Rose suddenly broke the silence. "Jack," she said.

"M-hhm."

"Can I tell you something and you promise not to think it's stupid?"

Jack turned away from his latest painting. "I would never think that," he said.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"There's something I've been thinking of doing, but…" She bit her lip nervously. She trusted Jack not to ridicule her, but that didn't make her feel any less ridiculous about what she was trying to say.

"What is it?" Jack asked, intrigued to hear the answer.

"I want to write," she said quickly. "But not just anything—I want to write political things." She waited for anxiously for his response.

He didn't say anything for a moment, but then he smiled. "You should do it."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes, I mean it. Why shouldn't you?"

"I'm not intelligent enough?"

"Who said?"

Rose was about to answer when she realized it wouldn't be a good idea. She just shrugged instead.

"That's what I thought. Rose, you can do anything you put your mind to. You are articulate and intelligent—you've read everything in the local library by this point—and you should be developing a thing of your own. Remember when you said you wanted that?"

Rose nodded. "I did say that."

"Alright then."

"How do you do that?" Rose asked.

"Do what?"

"Believe in me so much."

"The same way you believe in me," he replied.

While they were doing that Cal was deciding what exactly he was going to do. He couldn't believe Jack had actually become successful. It disgusted him to think that the two of them might be living a decent—let alone good—life together. His resolution to let the matter rest had been shattered by the article praising Jack's work. Now, they were all he could think about.

He didn't trust anyone else to take care of the matter for him, and the less people involved the better he always said. However, he was smart enough to know he couldn't just charge in, guns blazing—not again anyway.

He decided it would be best not to act yet. He needed more information, and he knew just how to get it.

…

"Well, I think it would be a good idea—a good way to introduce you to people," Maxwell said.

Jack frowned. "Really?"

"Yes, really. The critics love your work, and buyers love it too, but if you want to continue to succeed you need to reach more people. One of the best ways to do that is to put yourself out there. What's the matter, do you have something against parties?"

"No. I just don't like certain kinds," Jack answered.

"Well, you can do it however you want."

"I can?" Jack's eyes brightened.

"Eh, well, actually, no. I just said that because I knew you'd go for it." Maxwell leaned forward. "Look, I know you're the type of person who likes to do things his own way, but sometimes you have to do what the crowd wants. Unfortunately the crowd is made up of exactly the kind of people you want most to avoid. Now, when you become the sort of name that no-one is going to question then you can do things however you want."

Jack sighed. He knew Maxwell was right, and besides he felt he owed it to him. "Alright," he said.

Maxwell beamed. "I'll get things started then."

Not only was it going to be a party, it was going to be a lavish affair, and it was going to be held in New York. Rose, however, was much more excited by it. "But Jack, don't you realize what this means?" she asked excitedly.

"We have to go all the way back to New York just to spend an evening talking to arrogant people we don't know?" he said.

"No!" She smacked his arm. "It means you're really going somewhere." After a moment she added, "And it means what you said too, but that's okay."

"It is?" Jack was doubtful.

"Yes, it is, don't you see?"

"But I don't care about impressing the kind of people who wouldn't have even looked at me before," Jack said.

"This isn't about impressing them. Jack, this is about getting the chance to look them in the eye and saying, 'You know that person you didn't think was worth anything? Well, that's me, and I've made it in spite of you.'"

"I didn't think of it like that," he said thoughtfully.

"Well, you don't have to think of it like that if you don't want to, but I do. All my life I was surrounded by people who were convinced they were better than anyone else because of what their last name was or how much money they had, but the truth is most of them weren't very good people, not in the ways that count."

"I don't want to know what that makes me," Jack joked.

"The best person I have ever known." Jack just looked at her. "I mean that," she added.

"And yet I lack all the essential advantages," he said.

"You don't lack anything," Rose said softly, reaching up to touch his face.

"How is it that you were raised in that world yet you turned out so different?" Jack asked quietly.

"I honestly don't know," Rose laughed. "I wish I did. I wish I could explain why I turned out so wrong."

"You didn't turn out wrong at all," Jack assured her, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her close. "You're an amazing woman." He punctuated the statement with a kiss.

Later that afternoon Maxwell called to say he had set the party for the following week. He was also having the papers run an announcement. When Jack heard that his doubts began to creep back up. "It just feels weird," he told Rose after the call ended.

"That's okay," she said gently.

Jack frowned and stared at his shoes as though they were the most interesting things he had ever seen. He was so busy brooding he didn't notice Rose leave the room and come back a few minutes later.

"Jack."

He looked up at the sound of his name and saw Rose leaning against the doorway dressed in a corset and bloomers. He tried to speak but couldn't. "Could you help me unlace this?" Rose's tone was that of a mistress commanding a servant.

"Oh yes, miss," Jack said, moving toward her. He backed her through the doorway and into their bedroom. They were standing only inches from each other. He reached behind her and began untying the knot that held her laces together. Rose silently watched him, her face giving no indication of the way he was making her feel.

It should have only taken him a matter of seconds to unlace it, but he was deliberately slow about it. He could play too. Just when Rose was sure he would never finish she felt the corset begin to fall away. "Finally," she sighed.

"What was that, miss?" he teased. "If you wanted me to go faster you should have said so."

Rose chose not to reply verbally. She pulled him into a deep kiss, pressing their bodies together.

Later they lay belly to belly, legs intertwined—and exhausted. Rose's head rested on Jack's arm. His other arm was draped across her, his fingertips gently stroking her face.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"Us."

"What about us?"

"I was thinking how I don't want us to change."

"What do you mean by change?"

"I don't want our relationship to be different. I don't want it to become empty. I don't want us to stop wanting each other," he said.

"That isn't going to happen. Why are you worried about it?" Rose asked even though she thought she knew why.

"Everything else is changing, and it's all been a good thing, but I don't want us to somehow end up becoming the very people we've fought so hard against."

Rose gave him a gentle, reassuring kiss. "I promise that won't happen, Jack. I don't believe that could ever happen. We are who we are, and no amount of money or anything else will change that. Can you trust me on this?"

Jack smiled. There she was throwing his usual words back at him. "I can trust you about anything."

Little did they know that a few days later a certain someone just happened to be reading the paper, and he spotted something quite interesting.


	7. Chapter 7

Cal had been planning to go to Savannah and confront them there, but once he found out they would be going to New York within a week he altered his plans. Secretly, he was glad they were coming to New York. It took less time to get there, and he was already familiar with it. Nothing wrong with a little convenience being thrown his way; at least that's what he told himself.

He gave in and brought one extra person into the matter. He hired a private detective so he could know when they arrived in New York and where they stayed. His desire to remain the only person aware of his interest in them did not extend so far as to cause him to actually do anything for himself. The Tuesday before the party he went to New York. It seemed like a good idea to get there early and settle in. On Thursday afternoon he got a call from his detective. They had arrived.

Jack and Rose stepped off the train at around two p.m. Maxwell and his wife Linda had come with them. "It feels like we left just yesterday," Rose said as they left the station.

"I know what you mean," Jack agreed.

Maxwell and Linda just watched them, amused. "Shall we go to the hotel?" Maxwell suggested. As a reply he received a chorus of nods. "Okay then."

Rose wasn't sure whether to laugh or gasp when they reached the hotel. The first time they had been in New York they had stayed at one of the nicest hotels in the one was better.

Jack whistled. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, turning to Maxwell.

"It's already taken care of," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Rose squeezed Jack's hand reassuringly. He gave her a half-smile. He couldn't say why, but he didn't have the best feeling.

…

They stood in the middle of their room. Neither of them spoke, but each had a different reason. Jack was too overwhelmed by his surroundings. Rose was uncomfortable in them."Well…" Jack said awkwardly.

"Yes…" Rose said, just as awkwardly.

"Why is this so weird?" Jack asked. "Doesn't it seem like we should be…I don't know, happy?"

"One would think."

"So why are we having so much trouble?"

"Well, I'm a bit uncomfortable, and I think maybe it's because I'm afraid you'll think I'll start missing my old life and decide to, well, leave," Rose said matter-of factly. She had decided a less emotional approach might be best.

"That was very, uh, straightforward," Jack said. "I'm not uncomfortable really, I mean, I kind of like this, but I don't want to become dependent on it, you know?"

They just looked at each other for a moment. Rose nodded. "Jack," she said.

"Yeah?"

"We should maybe start thinking a little less about things."

"You might be onto something with that," he said with a smile. "And now that we've cleared that up, would you care to accompany somewhere?" He offered her his hand.

Rose eyed him suspiciously but took his hand. "And where might that be?"

"You'll see."

"I don't have to close my eyes do I?"

"You do now," he said.

So Rose squeezed her eyes shut, trusting Jack to lead her. When they stepped into an elevator she wanted desperately to open her eyes and see what was going on, but she didn't. Surprises like this were too important to him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, they stopped. "Okay," he whispered his mouth close to her ear. "Open your eyes." Rose gasped. The city of New York was laid out in front of her. Jack wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

"It's beautiful," Rose said.

"I thought you might like it."

"How did—where are we?" she asked.

"We're not exactly anywhere."

"We aren't?"

"I stayed here once," Jack explained. "And what I really remember most about it was the view from the roof. I wanted to bring you when we were in New York that first time, but there was so much going on."

"I'm glad you brought me this time," Rose said, turning her head slightly to look at him.

"Me too." He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers.

"This doesn't remind you of anything, does it?" Rose asked as she closed the gap between them.

While Jack and Rose were happily reliving a memory, Cal was securing an invitation to their party. The articles about Jack had mentioned Maxwell's name, and thanks to the skills of the detective he had hired, Cal knew exactly where to find him. He was pleased to discover that Maxwell had absolutely no idea he was connected to either of them.

"Nothing I've ever heard about you indicated you would be interested in this sort of thing," Maxwell said.

"Oh, I don't talk about it much," Cal replied.

"I understand, and by all means, feel free to come."

Cal smiled. "I definitely will."

Later that evening Rose was sitting on the floor of the sitting room that was part of their suite, surrounded by books. She was writing in a notebook balanced on her knee.

"Whatcha doin?" Jack asked from the doorway.

Rose's head snapped up, her concentration broken by his voice. "I'm—uh, well," she stammered, suddenly shy.

"That sounds fun," Jack said, sitting down.

"Don't make fun."

"I wasn't," he said, touching her arm. "You're writing something, aren't you?"

"Yes," Rose said heavily.

"Tell me about it?"

"Not yet. Let me finish it first."

"When it's finished, can I read it?" Jack asked eagerly.

Rose's eyes widened. "Um..well…"

"If you can't share it with me, who can you share it with?" Jack asked gently.

"I suppose you're right." Rose smiled sheepishly. "I just don't feel terribly confident about my abilities."

"I do. Now, what did I come in here for—oh, yeah, I'm going out for a bit," he said.

"You are? Where?"

"You'll find out. It's a surprise." Jack kissed her. "I won't be long."

Once he was gone she settled back into her books, forcing herself not to wonder about what he might be doing. _I never can tell with him_ , she thought.

Jack knew she could never tell what he was up to, and he liked that because it made it easier for him to do things to surprise her. He actually wasn't gone very long, having already planned out exactly what he was going to do. His only concern was that she might not like it. When he made it back to their room he discovered she hadn't moved an inch while he'd been gone.

"Hey," she said as he stepped into the sitting room. "Was I just that deep into this, or were you really barely gone at all?"

"Maybe both." He moved a few of the books aside and sat down close to her.

"So, what was the secret thing you went off to do?" Rose asked, laying her notebook down.

"I'm gonna need you to close your eyes," Jack said, unable to repress a smile.

"Why didn't I know that?" she asked, returning his smile.

She closed her eyes and was shocked to feel something cool on her neck. "Jack, what—"

He gently shushed her. "Now, I need you to stand up and give me your hand."

"Okay." Rose silently wondered if she would ever really become accustomed to Jack's love of getting her to close her eyes and leading her places.

"Open your eyes."

Rose saw her reflection in the mirror, and for a second wasn't sure why he had gone to so much trouble just to get her to look into a mirror when she remembered the cool feeling against her neck. "Jack!" she gasped as her mind processed the strand of pearls around her neck. "How…why…" She couldn't form a coherent sentence.

"Do you not like them?" he asked anxiously.

"I love them!" Rose exclaimed. Jack felt a wave of relief wash over him. For a brief moment he had been certain he'd made a mistake.

"But why?" she asked.

"What do you mean? Does there have to be a reason besides that I love you?"

"Well, no, I suppose not. I don't think I've ever gotten anything like this from someone just because they loved me."

He hugged her from behind. "You have now."

"And they match my ring," Rose said, suddenly noticing that her wedding ring was also a pearl.

"Uh-huh." Jack grinned. "Planned that myself. And I know wedding rings are usually diamonds, but I kind of thought, well…"

"Not a diamond, definitely," Rose said, finishing his sentence. She leaned against him. "Did I ever tell you that I don't actually care very much for diamonds?"

"No. Why don't you like them?"

"I don't know exactly, but they've never appealed to me. A diamond isn't something I would choose for myself."

"What would you choose?" he asked.

"Honestly, I've always liked pearls," she said, turning to face him. Their lips were just about to meet when there was a knock on the door.

"Whoever it is has some seriously bad timing," Jack said. Rose nodded. He quickly crossed to the door and opened it.

It was Maxwell and Linda. "We came to invite you to dinner," Maxwell said.

"Thanks," Jack replied.

"Oh, my!" Linda exclaimed, stepping past Jack and into the room. "Rose, those are beautiful."

Rose beamed. "Aren't they? Jack just gave them to me."

Linda shot Maxwell a look. "What?" he asked.

"Oh, never mind," she said. "Let's just go to dinner."

Dinner was pleasant and uneventful, yet Jack had a bad feeling the entire time. He couldn't explain why, and he couldn't make it go away. He chose not to tell anyone about it. It seemed like the best plan. No need to cause worry over nothing, and he knew Rose would worry even if Maxwell and Linda didn't. Once on the walk back to the hotel Rose looked at him curiously, as though she were about to ask if something was wrong, but he spoke before she had a chance to.

He lay awake that night, watching her sleep. She was curled around him, her head resting on his shoulder. He told himself there was nothing to worry about, but as he watched her the feeling grew stronger.

He didn't know what, if anything, was coming, but he promised himself he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

…..

Jack felt a bit foolish remembering his fears of the night before as he looked out the window at the bright, sunny day. "You just had a random attack of paranoia," he said aloud to himself.

The day flew by, and he wasn't sure why because he actually did very little. After breakfast Linda took Rose off to go shopping, Maxwell went off to do—actually Jack wasn't sure what—and he had gone on a long walk which ended with him sketching in Central Park. It felt nice to be just some random guy drawing again. No-one there seemed to have any idea who he was, which had not been the case lately. He found himself missing the anonymity. He liked the success, though. He liked the security it was providing. He wouldn't have told Rose, but it had begun occurring to him that neither of them would be young forever.

He walked into their room a little after sunset and found a half-dressed Rose brushing her hair in front of the mirror. "Having to spend the day by myself doesn't seem so bad since this is what I get to come back to," he said giving her a quick kiss.

Rose pointed at him with the brush. "Don't you even," she warned. "Go and get dressed."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack said, all innocence, but he did as she commanded.

Getting dressed for the party took him almost no time. He quickly found himself standing around near the door, waiting for Rose. His back was facing the door that led from the bedroom when he heard what could only be described as an insistent throat clearing. He turned around and saw Rose standing behind him. A small smile played about her lips. Her fiery curls had been gathered into what appeared to him to be an extremely intricate up-do. A few curls had escaped and framed her face. She was wearing the pearls he had given her. Her dress was white silk with a layer of delicate white lace over it. Jack probably couldn't have said what the design was called, but he knew he liked it.

"You're not saying anything," Rose said nervously. "That doesn't bode well."

"You're so beautiful," Jack whispered, taking her into his arms.

Rose blushed. She didn't know why, but something about the look in his eyes made her. Jack kissed her. It was a long, slow kiss that left them both breathless.

"We don't have to go," Rose said quietly.

For a moment Jack wanted to agree with her. Suddenly the feeling of dread he'd had the night before was back, and all he wanted to do was carry Rose off to bed. He wanted to make love to her as though there would never be another chance, chase away whatever paranoia had taken over his mind. But he said, "Yes, we do."

They walked into the party, hands clasped. A sea of extremely well-dressed people was spread out in front of them. Jack whistled. "It is a bit overwhelming," Rose said. She squeezed his hand. "But we can handle it."

Jack was about to reply when Maxwell and Linda spotted them. "Don't just stand in the doorway like that," Maxwell called, waving them over.

And so it began. Things moved quickly as they were swept from person to person, introduction to introduction. Jack didn't think he would be able to remember all the names. Rose couldn't help but be reminded of other parties she had attended in the past. The only difference was she actually cared about this one. They were both so caught up in what was going on that neither of them noticed they were being watched.

Cal was lurking in along a wall across the room, his eyes following their every move. He was waiting for an opportunity, to do what, he hadn't quite decided yet.

Pain began spreading through Rose's head. "Jack," she whispered, leaning close to him. "I'm going outside for a moment."

Concern shone in his blue eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just have a slight headache. I think a little air might help."

"I'll come with you," he offered.

"No, no, stay," she insisted. "You're the one they all want to see. I'll be fine."

Jack watched her go out one of the doors leading to the terrace, assuring himself that no-one was following her. When he had convinced himself everything really was fine, he allowed his attention to be drawn away.

Cal smiled to himself. His opportunity had come. He slipped outside, completely unnoticed. Rose stood a few feet away, just out of sight of the glass door. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed oblivious to the world around her.

She was enjoying the way the cool night air felt against her skin. Her head wasn't spinning anymore, and the pain was dissolving. She was just about to head back inside when she felt a pair of hands take hold of her arms. She knew immediately the hands didn't belong to Jack.

Her heart began to beat faster. Her stomach curled up in a knot. She decided the best thing to do would be to step forward and try to walk away as if nothing was happening. She moved her foot forward and the hands tightened their grip. She froze as a familiar voice said, "Did you really think it would be that easy?"

Rose quickly recovered her composure. Panic would get her nowhere. "Why not?" she asked, as though she felt no fear at all.

Cal dug his fingers into her arms. She sucked in her breath to avoid crying out in pain.

"Don't you talk that way to me," he hissed.

"Or what?" she snapped. "If I scream, do you realize how many people will hear it?"

Before she knew what was happening Cal had circled around her and was slamming her against the wall. Pain tore through her body as it hit the stone wall. Tears sprang into her eyes. She bit her lip and willed herself to remain quiet. She wouldn't let him hear how much it hurt.

"Do you realize what I could do to you before any of them figured out where you were?" he said, his face close to hers. He pressed his body against hers, holding her still.

Rose's blood ran cold. Not only did she know he was right, but she knew he would do whatever he was hinting at. She didn't want to think about what exactly that might be. "What do you want?" she asked calmly, hoping she could talk her way out of the situation.

"I want the diamond."

"What?" Rose was confused.

"You heard me. You have it. I want it," Cal snapped.

"But I don't have it," Rose said.

Cal was speechless as his brain processed her words. "What do you mean you don't have it?" he asked, flabbergasted. "Of course you have it!"

"I don't," she insisted. "I haven't seen it since that night on the ship. I thought you had it."

Suddenly she was angry. He wanted that diamond? He had stalked and cornered her in the dark because he wanted that diamond? "Why couldn't you have just asked me like a rational person?" she demanded.

"What?"

"I would have given it to you," she continued, "If I had it, and if you had the decency to just ask me!" With her anger came a strength she didn't know she had. She shoved him away and ran back inside. "Jack!" Rose cried as she ran through the door. People stopped talking and turned to stare at her as she continued running.

Jack was all the way on the other side of the room, but somehow he managed to bridge the gap between him and Rose in mere moments. He pulled her to him. "Are you alright?" he asked, though he was quite sure she wasn't.

"He's here," she said trying to keep her voice steady.

There was no need to ask who "he" was. "Where?" Jack demanded.

"Outside."

"Come on." He took her hand and they hurried over to Maxwell, ignoring the stares they were receiving.

"We need to call the police," Jack said to Maxwell.

"Why?" Maxwell couldn't contain his shock—and curiosity.

"I don't have time to explain it all now, but there is someone here who shouldn't be and he attacked Rose."

Maxwell hurried off without a word.

"Jack, do you think they'll actually do anything?" Rose asked.

"We'll just have to wait and find out, but if they don't…" Jack didn't finish his threat. He put an arm around Rose and pulled her close.

Linda rushed over to them. "What happened?" she asked.

"It's a long story," Jack said. "We'll explain it later."

Just then Maxwell came back in, accompanied by two policemen. He hurried back over to Jack and Rose. "Where is he, ma'am?" asked one of the policemen. Rose turned to point toward the door leading outside just as Cal was trying to slip back inside without being seen.

"There!" she cried, pointing directly at him.

Cal froze, but as the two policemen began to run toward him, he turned and ran back outside.

Twenty minutes later the police came back inside, empty handed. "He jumped the fence and we lost him," the first one said.

"Do you know who he is, miss?" asked the second one.

"Yes, I do," Rose answered.

Meanwhile Cal was racing down the streets of New York. He had a vague idea that the police were no longer following him, but it was as if he had lost the ability to control his body. Eventually he grew winded and was forced to stop. As he caught his breath he realized exactly what had just happened. He had escaped being arrested, but for how long? _They're sure to tell who you are_ , he thought. _But who's going to believe them?_ He argued with himself.

Then he remembered: Jack had become important. Jack had gotten his hands on money.

 _Maybe he doesn't have as much as you, but they won't just ignore him anymore._

The police assured Jack and Rose they would find Cal and then they left. Rose wasn't sure she believed them, but Jack had noticed a difference in the way they spoke to him then versus the way they would have spoken to him before. He wasn't unconvinced his new success wouldn't have an effect on their efforts.

"I'm so sorry this happened," Maxwell said.

Linda nodded in agreement. "It's just terrible." She laid a hand on Rose's shoulder.

"I'm fine," Rose assured them. "I really am." She looked up at Jack, her eyes meeting his. "I mean it."

"Are you sure?" Jack asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," Rose insisted.

Jack looked at her for a moment before nodding. "Okay," he said finally. Turning to Maxwell he added, "I'm sorry about all of this."

Maxwell dismissed his apology with a wave of his hand. "None of this was your fault. I just hope the police find him."

"Why would he do this?" Linda asked. "He's always been such a charming man."

"That's what he wants you to think," Rose said. "But it isn't real."

"How do you know him?" Linda was puzzled.

"Why don't we go back to the hotel, and they can tell us the whole story?" Maxwell suggested.

"That's a good idea," Jack agreed.

A few minutes later Maxwell had smoothed things over with the other partygoers and the little group was starting up the street. Linda and Maxwell were walking together just a little ahead of Jack and Rose. All of them were silent.

Suddenly a rage-filled scream broke through the quiet. Each of them whirled around to see what was going on.

Cal was standing just past the corner, about a hundred feet away of them. His face was curled into a snarl. "You called the police on me?" he yelled. "You think that just because a few people find you amusing now you can go up against me?" He raised his arm and they could see the gun in his hand. Jack shoved Rose behind him.

"Let's see you try now!" Cal yelled, aiming the gun at Jack.

"No!" Rose screamed, throwing herself in front of him and pushing him back just as Cal pulled the trigger. For a second Rose didn't think anything had happened. She had heard the gun fire, but the bullet hadn't hit anything as far as she could tell. Then she felt a sharp pain. _It hit me,_ she thought as her body crumpled and fell to the ground.

Cal's arm was still raised, the gun now pointing at Jack, but he didn't notice it. He just stood in a daze, unable to comprehend what he had just done.

Jack watched a look of confusion and then understanding pass across Rose's face as she fell to the ground. It happened too fast for him to move. As the reality of the situation sank in, he began to feel as though he were detached from his body. "Rose!" he screamed, sounding more like a wounded animal than a person.

Jack's howl shattered Cal's daze, and he made a move as if to run. Without thinking, Jack sprang forward and ran toward him. Cal turned to run, but Jack crashed into him before he could take more than a few steps. The impact of Jack's body knocked Cal to the ground. Jack came down on top of him. Cal never had a chance to react; the instant he was close enough Jack's fists began colliding with him—any part of him.

Out of the corner of his eye Jack noticed Cal was still clutching the gun. In one quick motion he grabbed it and jumped to his feet. He pointed the gun at Cal.

 _He really might kill me,_ Cal thought, suddenly taking Jack seriously for the first time.


	8. Chapter 8

Jack's body was shaking, but the hand with the gun was perfectly steady. In the back of his mind he had a vague understanding that what he was about to do was not only wrong but also going to make the situation much worse.

He didn't care.

Cal stared up at him, eyes wide with shock and terror. It had never occurred to him that Jack might actually end up making good on his threat, and now that it was about to happen, he didn't know what to do or think. Jack had just barely begun to squeeze the trigger when the sound of his name startled him.

"Jack," Rose repeated softly.

He spun around. She was looking straight at him, trying to pull herself up with Linda's help. He had been so consumed by a need for retaliation that he had forgotten she was still there. At that moment, Jack loathed himself. "Oh, Rose." He moved to her, gathering her into his arms. Tears sprang into his eyes as he saw the deep red stain that had spread over the side of her dress. "You're alright," he said, possibly more to reassure himself than anyone else. "You'll be alright."

Rose nodded. "I will be," she said weakly. The color had drained from her face and her eyes were dull. The pain she felt was intense, but she was trying to hide it.

Just then Maxwell ran up, several policemen in tow. He had gone for help the moment after Rose had been shot, but no-one had noticed. Cal was still lying where Jack had left him. It hadn't occurred to him to even try to run away. During his arrest he was silent. He felt as though he were outside of himself, as though he were watching someone else be arrested.

As Cal was led away, an ambulance arrived. Jack refused to allow anyone else to touch Rose, and in the end he was allowed to carry her inside. He held her until they arrived at the hospital and a doctor forced him to let go.

….

Jack had been silently staring at his hands for over two hours. He hadn't moved or made a sound since Rose had been taken into surgery. Maxwell and Linda had considered trying to talk to him, but they'd decided it would be best to just leave him alone. Instead they watched anxiously from across the waiting room, neither daring to think about what might happen if it turned out Rose wouldn't—or hadn't—made it.

Jack couldn't bring himself to stop looking at the smears of blood on his hands _. Rose's blood_ echoed through his mind like a sickening chant. _I have her blood on my hands—in every way possible._ Jack wanted to cry. He wanted to scream so loud it would drown out the cold fear and anguish that gripped his heart, but he didn't. He remained silent because deep down he knew there wasn't anything he could do to change the situation. He could do nothing to save her.

 _You did nothing to save her. You let this happen._

He was on the verge of being completely consumed by his guilt when he was interrupted by the sound of someone saying his name. He looked up to see a doctor standing in the doorway, chart in hand. "Right here," Jack said, surprised by how calm his voice sounded. He stood up and met the doctor halfway between the door and his chair. "How is she?" This time his voice shook slightly.

"She's stable. Fortunately, the bullet missed her spine and major organs, and she actually didn't lose very much blood." The doctor paused to allow Jack time to process the information.

"So, you're saying she'll be okay?" Jack asked anxiously.

"That's what I'm saying. However—"

Jack didn't hear anything but the confirmation that Rose wasn't dying.

"Can I see her?" he demanded.

"Yes, but—"

"Now?" Jack moved toward the door.

"Fine," the doctor said, gesturing for Jack and the others to follow him into the hallway. He would tell him the rest of the news later.

When he saw Rose lying in the hospital bed, her normally fair skin drained to a deathly white that was made all the more obvious next to her fiery curls, he couldn't stop himself from crying. It was just too much. "Jack?" she whispered, opening her eyes.

"Right here," he assured her, taking her hands in his. He kissed her fingertips. "I'm right here."

Maxwell and Linda watched from the doorway not wanting to interrupt the moment.

"So I'm alright?" Rose asked.

"You're okay," Jack said. He squeezed her hands. "You're fine, just like I said you would be."

Rose's eyes slowly began to close. "That's good to hear." Her voice had grown fainter.

"Rose, I love you," Jack said, hoping she would hear it before she fell asleep.

She smiled weakly but didn't open her eyes. "I love you too," she said before falling into a deep sleep.

"Jack?" Maxwell whispered.

Jack turned his head. He had completely forgotten anyone else existed. "Yeah?"

"We're going to go. Are you staying?"

"I'm not leaving until she does."

They both knew it would be no use arguing with him. "Okay," Maxwell said. They turned and quietly left.

As soon as they were gone the doctor stepped back into the room. "Mr. Dawson, I need to speak with you," he said, quietly but insistently.

Jack turned to look at him. "About what? I thought you said she was fine?"

"She is, but—look, just come out into the hall for a moment."

Jack reluctantly let go of Rose's hands and followed the doctor into the hallway. "What is it?" he asked.

"There's something you need to know," the doctor paused, unsure of how to say what he needed to say. "When your wife was shot the bullet destroyed one of her ovaries and ended up in her uterus. Now, I can't say for certain, but the chances of her ever being able to have children are almost nonexistent."

Jack felt as if he had been plunged back into the icy Atlantic Ocean. "Does she know?" he asked.

The doctor shook his head. "I haven't had a chance to tell her yet, and it might be best if you do."

"I'll tell her," Jack said absently. He turned and went back into Rose's room, closing the door behind him. He dropped into the chair by her bed. He didn't notice when he began to cry.

The sound of Rose shifting positions in her sleep brought him back to reality. He carefully lay down beside her and pulled her close. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair before falling into a deep sleep of his own.

….

The next morning Rose woke up in Jack's arms. She looked into his face as he slept, and for a moment she didn't know where she was. The events of the previous night felt like some hellish nightmare and nothing more. Unfortunately, the illusion didn't last, and gradually it became all too real. "Jack!" she cried shaking him, overcome by a wave of terror.

He jumped up, his body tensed. "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"Nothing, I guess. I just needed to hear your voice," Rose said, feeling foolish. "I woke up and everything from last night came rushing back to me, and I just…" She tried to explain with her eyes what she couldn't with words.

Jack took her face in his hands. "I'm so sorry Rose," he said. "I shouldn't have let—"

"No!" Rose interrupted him. "Nothing that happened last night was your fault. You didn't let anything happen. How could you—how could anyone have known what he was going to do?"

Jack shook his head. "I shouldn't have let you jump in front of me like that," he said insistently. "That bullet was meant for me, not you. I shouldn't have let you do that."

"You didn't let me, and you couldn't have stopped me," Rose said. Her tone left no room for argument. "Jack, I made the choice last night, and my choice was to try and protect you. I know how deeply you want to protect me, but you have to let me do the same for you. I knew there was a good chance I'd die—" Jack's face tightened. "—but that didn't matter if it meant you wouldn't." She touched his face. "I don't want to live even one day in a world that doesn't have you in it."

"I don't know what I would have done if you'd died last night," Jack said heavily.

"Don't think about it," Rose said, stroking his cheek. "I'm right here."

Jack's hands moved from her face to her waist. He pulled her closer as she began kissing him. She rested one hand on the back of his neck and twisted the other in his soft, blonde hair.

"I was afraid I'd never get to kiss you again," he whispered, pulling his lips away from hers.

Rose smiled. "For a while I was too."

"I have to tell you something, but I don't know how," Jack said, his eyes taking on a new somberness.

"What is it?" Rose asked anxiously.

"Well, you're going to be fine, but because of the—because of where you were shot…" Jack didn't know how to finish telling her.

"What? Jack, please, tell me." She looked into his eyes, half hoping to find the answer there.

"You'll probably never be able to have children," he said quietly.

"What?" Rose felt as though the room were spinning. "Not—not ever?"

"The doctor said there was almost no chance."

Rose wanted to cry, but it was as if she had no tears left. "How—why?" she cried. "Why us? Haven't we been through enough?" She buried her face in Jack's chest. He held her tighter.

"It's like losing something I never realized how badly I wanted," she continued quietly.

"Me too."

A heavy silence fell between them.

"I wish you'd killed him," Rose said. "I wish I'd been quiet and let you."

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Jack said sadly.

"I know, but I want him to pay for what he's done to us—and I know he won't." The tears Rose had wanted earlier came suddenly in full force. She sobbed into Jack's shirt. "This is not what was supposed to happen to us."

…..

Rose was allowed to leave the hospital a few days later. They went back to the same hotel room they'd been staying in before everything happened. Jack had stayed with her the entire time she was in the hospital. She begged him to go back to the hotel and get a decent night's sleep, but he wouldn't hear of it. Rose's hospital bed was only big enough to hold one person comfortably, but somehow they made it work. Though she did want to see him get some rest, Rose was glad he never left her.

Maxwell and Linda brought them both fresh clothes and visited during the day, but they only stayed for an hour or two at a time. They didn't say it, but it was hard for them to be there. They still didn't know the full story behind Jack and Rose's connection with Cal, but they had pieced a few things together from what the papers were saying.

The morning after the shooting all the papers—major and local—had it as their top story. Headlines reading "Steel tycoon shoots woman" were everywhere. Gradually, as the reporters gathered more information, the articles began to mention Rose by name. Whether because Cal's family was managing to keep it quiet or whether the reporters just weren't digging deep enough, none of them had made the connection between the Rose Dawson he had shot and the Rose DeWitt-Bukator he had once been engaged to, and who was presumed dead.

Rose was startled to see their room looked exactly the same as it had when they'd left it almost a week before. It was as if none of it had happened, and if not for the still-healing wound on her abdomen she could possibly have convinced herself of that.

"Are you okay?" Jack asked gently, laying a hand on her arm.

"Yes," Rose said absently. She touched his hand. "It's just so strange. Everything's the same…except that it's not."

Jack was overcome by the urge to hold her. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay—and somehow make it be true. He hated seeing the sadness that had filled her eyes since she'd found out they couldn't have children. It hurt him deeply, but watching Rose hurt was worse.

"We'll be alright," he said.

She looked into his eyes. "Do you believe that?" she asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

"I believe it." He took her hands in his. "I know we can make it through anything as long as we're together."

"I know you're right," Rose said, "but it's so hard for me to believe it sometimes. I think we've finally made it through everything, and then something else gets thrown at us."

"I wish there was something I could do to make things easier, but I don't know how," Jack said. "I promise to do everything I can to make you happy and keep you safe."

"I promise too."

Their moment was interrupted by a knock on the door. Hands clasped, they answered it together.

"We thought you were coming back today," Maxwell said. "We wanted to come and see how you were doing."

"Yes, how are you?" Linda asked.

"I'm fine," Rose replied. "I was very lucky, though." They had decided not to tell anyone else about the effect of Rose's injury. It didn't seem like the kind of thing other people needed to know.

Linda gave Rose a concerned look. She sensed there was something Rose wasn't saying. "Are you sure?" she asked gently.

Rose smiled slightly. "I'm sure. It's just been a very stressful few days, and I'm exhausted." Looking at Jack she added, "We both are actually."

Jack's eyes were open, but he appeared to be asleep on his feet. He hadn't slept well while Rose was in the hospital. He could deal with the size of the bed—they slept so close together anyway—but he had a lot of trouble relaxing enough to fall asleep, not to mention making sure he avoided hurting her. He kept worrying about Rose, if she really was going to be okay, how she was being affected by everything that had happened—and what would end up happening to Cal. They hadn't talked about him since Rose had said she wished Jack had killed him. Secretly, Jack wondered if it wouldn't have been the best thing to do.

"You look exhausted," Maxwell said sympathetically. "We came to invite you to lunch, but I think you'd both be better off with a nap."

"Thanks anyway for the invitation," Jack said with a small smile. "We'll have dinner with you if we're awake by then."

"Okay. Call us if you need anything," Maxwell said.

"Yes, do," Linda added.

"We will," Jack assured them.

Once they were gone Jack and Rose collapsed onto the bed. They were completely physically and emotionally drained. They wrapped their arms around each other and fell into a deep, healing sleep, both hoping things would look better when they woke up.

…

Meanwhile Cal was learning there were some things not even he could just walk away from. His father had taken the first train into New York the morning after his arrest and insisted he be taken before a judge and his bail set, but he wasn't allowed to leave the city. The money and connections that normally worked so well to his advantage had actually worked against him in this situation. He had expected his father to argue—or at least instruct the family attorney to do so—when the judge had declared him a "flight risk", but he had just stared straight ahead, silent and tight-lipped.

He didn't say anything as they left the police station and were driven back to Cal's hotel. He didn't even look in Cal's direction. Once they were alone in Cal's room, he finally spoke. "I just don't understand why you did it," he said. "I've been going over it in my mind, trying to understand what could possibly have possessed you, but I just can't understand how you could do something so—so—" he groped for the word he wanted, "Stupid," he spat in exasperation.

"It's complicated," Cal said carefully. "There's—"

"How complex can it be?" Nathan snapped. "You've clearly lost whatever intelligence you had!"

Cal pushed his anger down. His father was the one person he'd never dare cross. "Let me explain," he began, calmly. "Could I do that?"

Nathan sighed. "Why not? How about you start with who exactly this mysterious woman is."

"She's my ex-fiancée."

Nathan stared at him, confused. "What? You really have lost your mind. That girl's dead."

"No, she isn't. Everyone just thinks she is," Cal said insistently. "I know how it sounds, but it's true. While we were on the _Titanic_ she took up with this—this—person," he made the word person sound as though it was something beyond repulsive, "And she ran off."

"What are you saying—that she left you and is letting everyone believe she died?" Nathan was having trouble understanding his son's story.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. She met this man from steerage, and she ran off with him." Cal didn't know how he could make it any clearer.

"But—but why? It doesn't make sense."

"I was there, and I don't understand it," Cal said. "You don't even know the half of what she did." Disgust shone in his dark eyes.

"Well, enlighten me then," Nathan said. "I can't help you deal with a situation I don't understand." Cal smiled. Those were the words he had been waiting to hear.

…..

Maxwell and Linda stared across the table, shock written on their faces. Jack and Rose had just finished telling them their story. "I read about you in the paper. It said you were dead," Maxwell said in a slightly dazed voice.

"I know it did," Rose said apologetically. "It may seem strange, but I had to let people think that."

"Does your family know you're alive?" Linda asked.

"My mother knows, but honestly I think she'd prefer if I wasn't. She wasn't happy about my decision."

Jack touched Rose's hand. "It doesn't matter," he said.

Rose smiled at him. "No, it doesn't."

"I can't believe you just met by chance and fell in love. It's so romantic. It's like something out of a fairytale," Linda said dreamily.

"I hope the happy ending comes soon," Jack laughed.

Later that night Jack found Rose standing in front of the window, staring up at the sky.

"Whatcha doing?" he asked, slipping an arm around her waist.

She leaned against him. "Looking at the moon and the stars. It's a beautiful night."

They were silent for a few minutes. "I can feel you thinking," Jack whispered. "Want to talk about it?"

"I was just…trying to make sense of everything."

"Find out anything?"

"I think so," Rose said hesitantly. "I kept going back to what you said at dinner—about hoping the happy ending comes soon. I realized that maybe our happy ending won't look the way we thought it would, but that's okay."

Jack kissed her hair. "We'll still be happy," he said. "We still have each other, in spite of everything."

Rose turned her head slightly and looked into his eyes. "We'll live happily after all," she said with a small smile.

"I thought it was 'ever after'?"

"Not for us. We'll live happily even after all we've been through—and might still have to go through."

"I like your version better," Jack said as she leaned in to kiss him.

Meanwhile, in another very nice hotel just a few blocks away, Cal was anxiously pacing the length of his room. After he finished explaining the situation his father had just stared at him.

"You believe me, don't you?" Cal had asked. Hearing himself tell the story he'd realized just how odd it might sound to someone else.

"I believe you. I just need to decide how best to handle this. Obviously, it would be best if the press doesn't find out who she is—or was, rather. It would create too much confusion, and it would only generate sympathy for them. You don't look very sympathetic to the public as it is. We don't need you anything getting out that will make you look even worse."

"So what should I do?"

"Stay quiet and out of sight for now. Not only can you not go home, but also you can't go anywhere here. The last thing anyone needs to see is you out and about, having a good time."

"What does it matter?" Cal asked, annoyed. "No-one I would know is going to care about someone like her."

"That isn't the point," Nathan snapped. "You have to look sympathetic, remorseful. There's no way any attorney can convince a jury you didn't do this, but we can convince them you're deeply upset about what you did. It was just a moment of temporary insanity, nothing more. If you go running around New York like nothing's happened, however, there's no way in hell anyone will even think about sympathizing with you."

"Fine. I'll stay here. I won't see anyone," Cal said. He knew his father was right, but more importantly he knew what would happen if he didn't do as his father said.

"Good. I'll go and take care of some things, and when I get back we can discuss this further."

That had been several hours ago, and Cal wasn't eager for his father to return. He desperately wanted his father's help—and secretly wished he would just find a way to take care of the whole mess and be done with it—but he hated having to be around his father for more than a few minutes at a time. It made him nervous. He would start doubting himself, and the longer his father was around the more he felt like a child.

He was startled by the sound of his door being unlocked from the outside. _When did he get a key?_ Despite the help his father was giving, he resented the intrusion. "It looks like I may have worked something out," Nathan said, stepping inside. "Sit down and listen carefully."


	9. Chapter 9

Early the next morning, Jack and Rose were awakened suddenly by loud knocking. "What is it?" Rose asked groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"I don't know," Jack replied, yawning. "Maybe whoever it is will just go away."

The loud knocking became pounding.

"Or not," Rose said.

They climbed out of bed and made themselves as presentable as possible without resorting to actually getting dressed in day clothes. There wasn't enough time to go to all of that trouble. They quickly answered the door and found themselves staring at two men. They both wore suits and appeared to be in their thirties. "Can we help you?" Jack asked, puzzled.

"Sorry about waking you up," the first one said. "We need to talk to you quite badly. I'm Detective Holcomb," he pulled out a badge, "and this is Detective Stephens." The second man nodded and produced a badge as he was introduced.

"What do you need to talk to us about?" Rose asked even though she was sure she knew the answer.

"Why don't we step inside?" Stephens suggested. "I don't think it's the sort of think everyone needs to hear."

Once they were all settled in the sitting room, Holcomb leaned forward and said, "Mrs. Dawson—"

"Call me Rose."

"Rose," he began again, "I'm sure this has been a very difficult experience for you, and I don't want to make it any worse—"

"But you're going to, aren't you?" Rose asked.

"I'm afraid I don't have a choice," Holcomb said apologetically. "You see, we need you."

"For what?" Rose was confused.

"You already have him, why do you need her?" Jack placed a protective arm around Rose.

"I understand how you feel, but if you don't help us there's a good chance we won't have him. At all."

"How can that be?" Jack was becoming upset. "There's no way he can say he didn't do it. At least four people saw it happen!"

"Exactly," Stephens said. "We need some of those people to explain to a jury what they saw because if they don't it'll make it that much easier for him to just walk away from this."

"Look, we waited as long as we could before we came to talk to you, but we can't wait much longer. His father's pushing for this to end as quickly as possible, and as much as we don't want that there's not a whole lot we can do," Holcomb said. "Now, ideally we'd like to have all four of you on board, but we need you the most Rose."

Rose looked at Jack, half-hoping he would tell her what to do. "Can I think about it for a bit?" she asked.

Holcomb and Stephens exchanged looks. "Okay, but there isn't much time," Holcomb said. They got up to leave. "Here's our card. Call us when you know something," Stephens said, handing Rose a small card.

As Jack closed the door behind them Rose collapsed onto the couch. "I don't know what to do," she said. "There's something wrong with me. How can this be a difficult decision?" She lifted her head to make room for Jack. "What would you do?" she asked, laying her head in his lap.

"You can't just do what I'd do," he said. "You have to do what feels right for you, no matter what that is." He brushed a stray curl out of her eyes. "I will support whatever decision you make."

Rose sighed. "This would be so much easier if you were less wonderful," she said.

"I'll try to remember to tone that down," Jack said.

"Be serious. Would you do it? Go up there and testify against him?"

Jack didn't answer at first. "Yeah, I think I would. I'd want to know that even if things didn't turn out the way I'd like—"

"If he got to just walk away like nothing happened, you mean," Rose said, a trace of bitterness in her voice.

"Exactly. If that happened, I'd want to know I'd done everything I could to stop it."

"They could really make things difficult for us," Rose said somberly.

"Any more than they already have?"

"You have a point," she replied. "I guess I'm just afraid of making everything worse. I don't want to invite more trouble into our lives, that's all."

"I understand, and if you don't want to do this, you don't have to," Jack said gently. "You've been through enough."

" _We've_ been through enough," Rose corrected him. "But what's a little more?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're right about wanting to do everything you can to make sure he doesn't just get away with this. Remember when I told you I wished you'd killed him?" Jack nodded. "Well, that wouldn't have solved anything. I wanted—I want him to pay for everything he's done to us, and that means I have to do something to try and make that happen."

"Are you sure? Like you said, they can do a lot to make sure life isn't easy for us."

"I know, but I have to do this. I kind of knew that the whole time," she said.

"Okay. We'll call them this afternoon."

….

Things moved quickly after Rose called the detectives and agreed to testify against Cal. It seemed there was no end to the statements she had to make and people she had to meet. The hardest part was asking Maxwell and Linda to stay in New York and testify as well. They reacted much better than Rose had feared they would, and each of them agreed to do it. That mean it would be their word—all four of theirs—against Cal's.

Rose didn't think it would be enough, but she didn't say anything. Jack told himself it would be. He had to believe there was some measure of justice in the world.

 _Two Weeks Later_

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Rose said nervously. She and Jack were standing outside the courthouse. "Maybe it really doesn't matter after all."

"You've come this far," Jack said. "Do you really want to give up now?"

"Could I, please?"

"Do you mean that?" He looked at her intently. "Because if you decide to give up now, that's it."

Rose sighed. "I just don't want to—oh, this is just—it makes me feel stupid—I don't want to have to look at him. I don't want to sit there and feel him watching me."

Jack took her hands. "Hey, I'll be there too," he said reassuringly. "Look at me. Just keep your eyes on me. Pretend that he isn't there, none of them are. You can do this. I know you can."

Rose started to reply, but she was interrupted by yells and the clicking of flashbulbs. Directly ahead of them a crowd of reporters had formed. Each was yelling out questions and requests for statements. Jack and Rose turned to watch the scene. Soon the crowd began to part and three men stepped through—Cal, Nathan, and someone whom Jack and Rose could only assume was their attorney.

Rose felt nauseous. She tightened her grip on Jack's hand. They hadn't noticed them yet. They were too caught up in the media circus that had formed to greet their arrival. As they moved closer to the steps leading up the door, Nathan spotted them out of the corner of his eye. He turned and looked directly at them, a shocked expression in his eyes. On some level, neither of them had been real to him up until then. He'd met Rose, but it even so it was as if he were seeing her for the first time.

Cal noticed his father staring off to the side. He looked over to see what was so fascinating. When his eyes landed on Jack and Rose his mouth curled in disgust. Jack just stared at him, his blue eyes blazing with hatred. So did Rose. Cal hated them even more for not being afraid of him—or for not showing it, whichever was the case. The whole exchange took less than a few seconds. The three of them swept past Jack and Rose without a word, trailed by the ravenous journalists.

Jack breathed a deep sigh of relief once they were gone. He hadn't realized how draining just seeing Cal would be. "Hey," Rose said, touching his face. "We can do this, remember?"

Jack nodded. "We can. That was just…"

"I know. Me too." Rose took a deep breath. "But it's over now, and soon all of this will be over."

Their eyes met and then their lips. It wasn't a passionate kiss, it was a comforting kiss—a kiss of reassurance. _I'm here_ it said. And then silently they turned, hands intertwined, and walked up the steps.

The opening statements were brief. Neither Jack nor Rose really heard much until Cal's attorney started talking about his "unfortunate mental state" and how it was "the product of grief." Jack's jaw tensed as he listened to Cal being described as a "good, decent person" who just got mixed up with the "wrong woman." It infuriated him that there were people right there in the room with them who didn't know any better than to believe the lies being told. He looked over at Rose and saw her mouth was thin. Her body was stiff. He wanted to do something to comfort her, but there wasn't anything he could do. They just had to get through it.

Rose went last, which meant she had to watch everyone else go up and be questioned. Her palms were sweating. Her mouth was dry. She wasn't even sure she remembered how to speak. It was all a blur until Jack's turn came. He squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile. _He's trying to make me feel better_ , she thought. It was the same look he'd given her as they had clung to the bow of the _Titanic_ as it sank. _Just like he was even then_. In spite of everything else that was going on, Rose felt a warm rush of affection for him.

She held her breath as he was sworn in. Both Cal and his father were watching him contemptuously. The entire courtroom seemed to lean forward collectively, each person eager to hear his story. Rose didn't. She sat straight as a board, holding his gaze. The first part passed quickly, and then it was _their_ turn. Jack took a deep breath to steady himself. He kept his eyes locked on Rose.

"So, Mr. Dawson," the attorney began, glancing at an open folder on the table in front of him. He voice sounded as though just saying Jack's name left a bad taste in his mouth. "Why don't you tell me, in your own words, exactly what happened."

"Alright. Where should I begin?"

"What? Begin at the beginning, of course," he said, looking at Jack the way a person might look at a child that's having trouble understanding something. It was that look that finally did it. Something in Jack snapped. It wasn't right what was happening.

"Yes, obviously, but where is that? The situation that landed us here didn't begin that night," Jack said calmly.

 _What is he doing?_ Rose wondered. Everyone else was wondering the same thing. Cal leaned over and whispered something to his father, who nodded. The attorney glanced at them and received a nod as well. "Okay. When did it begin then?" he asked.

"It began when I met my wife as far as I'm concerned," Jack said. "See—"

"Your wife, now who is that?"

"Don't you know?" Jack asked, feigning surprise. "I thought we already went over this."

"Just answer the question."

"Rose Dawson is my wife."

"Is she here? Could you point to her?"

"Fine." Jack pointed to Rose. Immediately every eye in the room was on her. She shrank under the scrutiny.

"Thank you. Now, what does any of this have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with what happened—with why it happened. You've been saying that he's this great person who just happened to meet this awful girl. You're saying she's the one to blame for all of this, but that's just not true at all," Jack said forcefully. "Nothing you've said so far has been true."

"What are you saying?" He was getting annoyed.

"I'm saying I can't just listen to this anymore. He," Jack pointed at Cal, "nearly killed my wife—the most important person in the entire world to me—and so far no-one here seems to be taking that seriously!"

"Mr. Dawson, I'd like to ask you to remain calm. This not the place for that sort of behavior." The attorney eyed Jack disgustedly.

"Fine. Okay. What do you want to know?" Jack said resignedly.

"Why don't we stick to the facts? For instance, how did you meet your wife?" He led Jack through the entire story, doing his best to make Jack look crazy or just plain stupid at every turn. Finally he said, "That's enough."

As Jack made his way back to his seat, Rose was called. They met in the middle. "I'm sorry I just couldn't take it anymore," Jack whispered, touching her hand as they passed. "It's okay," Rose whispered back.

She took her seat and was sworn in. She could feel Cal's eyes burning into her, but she forced herself not to look in his direction. Instead she stared straight at Jack, hoping eye contact with him would somehow calm her nerves. The first half was quick and relatively easy. All she had to do was tell the story and identify the people involved. It was the second half, the cross-examination, that she was dreading, and it came all too soon.

"Mrs. Dawson—may I call you Rose?" the attorney asked.

"No," Rose said coldly.

"Very well then. Your husband had some very interesting things to say, but I'd like to hear about the situation from you. Tell me about your relationship with my client."

Rose tried to ignore Cal's glare. "Well," she began, "as was already said I was engaged to him at one time—"

"Yes, you were," the attorney interrupted. "Why did you end that relationship?"

"I didn't want to marry him," Rose said simply.

"Is that all there was to it?"

"At first, yes, but then I met someone else—"

"The man you're now married to, is that correct?"

"Yes—why do I have to go over all of this again?"

"Humor me, would you please? Now, is it not true that your current husband was arrested for stealing from my client?"

"No!" Rose exclaimed.

"So he wasn't arrested? I have a record here that says otherwise."

"He was, but he didn't do it. It was all a set-up."

"A set-up? And what would be the purpose of that?" he asked skeptically.

"To get rid of him," Rose said. She was starting to get upset. "Cal was hoping if he could get Jack out of the picture I'd just give in and marry him, but it didn't work."

"That's quite a scheme you're describing. Are you sure the two of you didn't just come up with a plan to rob my client and then it backfired?"

"What?" Rose asked, wrinkling her face in confusion. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does what you or your husband have been saying, Mrs. Dawson."

Rose sighed. "Look, I wasn't happy when I was with Cal. I hated him. I still hate him. Would I have left him if I hadn't met Jack? Probably not. But I did meet him and I married him instead of Cal. That would have been the end of it if he hadn't continued to terrorize us."

"Continued? When did he begin?" He looked at her as if she were crazy.

"Both of us or just me?" Rose snapped.

"There's no need for that," the judge said sternly.

"I'm sorry." Rose looked at her hands. It was just all too much. She looked up and her eyes met Jack's. "You can do it," he mouthed. "I'll try," she mouthed back.

"Are you still with us Mrs. Dawson?"

She jerked her attention to the annoyed attorney. "Yes."

"Good. Now, answer the question. When did this so-called terrorizing begin?"

"It began for the both of us on April 14th," she began, "He—"

"April 14th? The night the _Titanic_ sank?"

"Yes, you see—"

"And the three of you were on it, weren't you?"

"Yes—"

"Managed to fit a lot in, didn't you? Wasn't that the night your husband was arrested for robbery?"

"Yes," Rose said, exasperated. "That was the night my husband was set-up. That was also the night your client," she mocked his voice, "first tried to kill us. Ironically, he used a gun that time too."

"He tried to shoot you twice? How is it that only you and your husband have any knowledge of this?"

"We were on a sinking ship! Who would have been paying attention in all that panic and chaos? And he only _tried_ to shoot us once. The second time he got lucky," Rose said disgustedly.

"Isn't it true that you let him believe you died in the sinking?"

Rose stared at him. "What?"

"Answer the question."

"Yes, I did. I wanted him to think we were both dead."

"Why is that? Why would you do something like that to a man who cared enough about you to want to marry you?"

"He never cared about me!" Rose cried. "If he had he wouldn't have done any of the things he did."

"Such as?"

"Well, there's the whole reason we're here."

"Are you telling me that you don't think your actions are in any way to blame for what my client did? You don't think leaving him for another man—and letting him believe you were dead on top of that had anything to do with his reaction to seeing you?"

Rose was speechless. "No!" was all she could say.

"You don't think leaving a nude drawing of yourself—done by the very man who left him for—for him to find had anything to do with it?"

"This is absurd! This is all so irrelevant. I did nothing wrong here!" Rose was close to tears.

Jack's hands were balled into fists. He wanted so badly to do something—anything—to make the whole thing end. It infuriated him that all he could do was sit there silently and watch.

"Nothing further."

Rose made her way back to her seat in a daze. On her way she caught a glimpse of Cal smirking. It filled her with an overwhelming desire to grab the nearest chair and break it over his head. She collapsed onto the bench beside Jack. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

Rose nodded. "I'm just glad it's over. I don't even care what happens anymore," she whispered back. She laid her head on his shoulder as he put an arm around her.

"Are there any more witnesses?" the judge asked.

"No, your honor," answered the prosecutor.

"I'd like to call my client, your honor," Cal's attorney said.

"Go ahead then."

Cal walked up to the stand, head bowed. His expression was somber as he was sworn in.

"Now, Mr. Hockley," his attorney began. "Why don't you tell me about your relationship with the previous witness?"

"We were engaged, and everything was fine until suddenly I discovered she was being unfaithful," Cal said.

"Do you know with whom?"

"Yes. She didn't try to hide it. She had an affair with that man." Cal pointed to Jack, who glared at him.

"The one she's currently married to?"

"Are they married?" Cal feigned ignorance. "I've tried not to think too much about it, to be honest."

"That's understandable. Did she try to hide the affair from you?"

"Oh no, not at all."

The jury began to whisper among themselves and some of them glanced in Rose's direction. Her body tensed. Jack squeezed her shoulder.

"You heard me ask her about the drawing," the attorney said, turning to face the jury, "the nude drawing of her. She left that for you to find, didn't she?"

"Yes," Cal said. He wore a pained expression.

"And the man she was having the affair with—her current husband—he drew it, did he not?"

Cal nodded. "Yes, he did, and when I found it I also discovered that a very expensive gift I had given her was missing."

"Do you know what happened to it?"

The jury leaned forward, eager to hear what Cal had to say. "I discovered soon after that her lover had stolen it."

"Did she know about it?"

"She said at the time she didn't, but now I'm not so sure."

"She also let you believe she died in the sinking of the _Titanic_ , didn't she?"

"Yes, she did," Cal said sadly. "She refused to get on a boat. I tried to reason with her, but she became hysterical and ran away. Her name never came up on the survivor lists. I had no choice but to believe she had died."

"So it was a pretty big shock when you discovered she was not only alive but also married to another man, wasn't it?"

"It was the last thing I expected to find out," Cal said. "I was willing to stay with her even after what she did, but…" Cal lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat.

"So naturally, when you saw them together, you became emotional?"

"Regrettably, yes."

"How did this happen?"

"I happened to be at a party they were attending, and once they realized I was there they had me chased out by the police." Cal shook his head sadly. "I don't understand what came over her."

"And then what happened?"

"I'm afraid I let my emotions get the better of me. I came back a little later, words were exchanged, and somehow I became so upset I fired my gun before I realized what I was doing," Cal said, facing the jury, his eyes heavy with the best remorse money can buy.

"You never intended to kill—or even harm—either of them, did you?"

"No!" Cal said emphatically. "Never."

"You just got swept away, didn't you? Let your emotions get the better of you?"

"That's exactly what happened." Cal nodded.

"Nothing further."

"Would you like to question the witness," the judge asked, gesturing toward the prosecutor.

"No," he answered in a defeated voice.

Rose felt sick to her stomach. The jury had eaten up everything he said. _I knew this would happen_. Jack wondered yet again why he didn't just kill Cal when he had the chance. After Cal returned to his seat the closing arguments began. They were brief, and soon the jury was filing out for deliberations.

"I need air," Rose said.

"Me too," Jack replied.

Once they were outside Rose threw her head back and let out a loud, frustrated scream. "Feel better?" Jack asked.

"Not really." She rubbed her temples.

"Headache?"

She nodded. "A bad one."

Jack began gently massaging the back of her neck at the base of her skull. "It's almost over," he said. "We can get through the rest of it."

"I just wish I could have said something. I wish I could have told them all what a liar he is."

"You tried. That's all that matters. It's up to them who they believe."

"It isn't right."

"I know," Jack said, a note of resignation in his voice. "I wish I could do something to change it."

"So do I," Rose said. A moment later she added, "When this is over, can we go back to wandering?"

"If that's what you want."

"It is. I miss it," she said, turning to face him.

"I miss it too." He put an arm around her. She laid her head on his shoulder. "I promise, the first chance we get, we'll head back out to the horizon again."


	10. Chapter 10

It took five hours for the jury to come to a decision. Rose tightened her grip on Jack's hand as they filed back into the courtroom. Her stomach was tied up in knots. She didn't believe they would actually find Cal guilty of anything, but even so she couldn't help being anxious.

Jack was feeling something similar. He kept telling himself it would all work out the way it was supposed to, but it wasn't exactly a comforting thought. Mostly, he just wanted to be out of there. He wanted to forget about the entire mess and everything involved, concentrate on the rest of his life with Rose. They both held their breath as the foreman stood up to call out the verdict. "We the jury," he said, "find the defendant guilty of assault."

Cal stared at him. What had just happened? That was not what was supposed to be said. He looked over at his father who appeared to be just as confused as he was. "We finally agreed that although we believe the defendant is not guilty of the attempted murder charge, we do think he should be held accountable for his actions—no matter what their motivation," the foreman explained.

The judge nodded. "Alright—" He went on to say more, but neither Jack nor Rose heard him. They were too stunned.

"Did he really say that?" Rose asked.

"Yeah, I think he did," Jack said.

"I never thought—"

"Me either."

They sat in silence, watching but not really seeing what was going on in front of them.

"Jack," Rose said, "Could we go?"

"You don't want to hear what's going to happen to him?"

Rose shook her head. "It's not important. I heard all I needed to hear."

No-one noticed them leave. They didn't say it, but they both knew a part of their lives had ended forever.

 _8 Months Later  
April 1913_

They'd left New York that very night. They went back to Savannah, intent on collecting their few belongings before heading back out again. Deciding they preferred to make their own schedule, they bought an inexpensive car—before realizing neither of them knew how to drive it. They spent three days figuring it out, and by the time they left Rose was shaping up to be the better driver. Jack made an arrangement so he could send his paintings back to Maxwell, who would handle getting them sold and shown. At first he worried the small amount of success he'd had would begin to fade once he and Rose disappeared from sight, but it just fueled the fire. He'd gone from being a brilliant new artist to a brilliant new artist with mystique.

They wandered through the back roads—dirt paths, more like—and small towns of the South for a while. As winter took hold, they began heading West. They spent Christmas in Tempe, Arizona, each secretly happy to be safely away from the cold.

Time flew by—as relatively uneventful happiness tends to do—until before they knew it April had come around again. They'd finally made it out to Santa Monica and were staying in a small bungalow on the beach. They'd agreed it was best to take some time off and settle in for a while. Jack painted the beachgoers—and anything else he happened to see while Rose scribbled furiously into a notebook. He often wondered what she was writing, but she never showed him. He told himself she would when she was ready.

And so early on the morning of April 14th they lay in bed, listening to the dull roar of the ocean and seagull calls, each all too aware of what day it was. "Jack?" Rose said, looking over at him. His eyes were closed. "Are you awake?" She touched his shoulder.

"Yeah." He opened his eyes. "I was kind of trying not to be."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I've been awake for a long time."

"Me too. Do you know what day it is?"

Jack nodded. "I know. I can't sleep for thinking about it."

"I can't believe it's been a whole year," Rose said incredulously.

"Me either. It almost seems like it was just yesterday."

"Do you ever think about it?" Rose asked, turning over onto her side.

"Sometimes…I'll see or hear something and it's almost like I'm still there."

"I dream about it."

"I do that too."

They looked at each other silently for a moment, not sure what else to say. The air had grown heavy around them. Rose wanted to tell him about the times she woke up terrified, her heart racing and sure he was dead, only to realize she was curled up in his arms. What she didn't know was that she didn't have to tell him. He already knew. He did it too.

The rest of the day passed quickly. They didn't talk about _Titanic_ again. Jack painted in the afternoon and Rose wrote. After dinner Jack headed back outside, hoping to capture the sunset. He was deeply engrossed in his painting when he heard a quiet, "Hello, Jack." He turned around to see a smiling Rose. Her hair was pulled back from her face but a few curls had managed to escape.

"Wha—"

"I changed my mind."

Jack smiled. _I knew this seemed familiar_ , he thought. "I don't know how to make you fly this time," he said.

Rose stepped forward and turned him around so he was facing the sunset. "You always make me fly," she whispered into his ear. Her arms snaked around his middle. "Come Josephine, my flying machine," she sang. Jack reached down and took her hands. Spreading their arms out he sang the rest, "Going up she goes, up she goes." He laced his fingers through hers. Turning his head to face her he bent in to kiss her.

Due to their differing heights and difference in position, it was a bit more awkward this time around. Rose giggled. "I should have thought this through more." Jack shushed her.

Eventually they went back inside. "I'm sorry about making you miss that sunset," Rose said.

"Somehow I think it'll come around again," Jack grinned. "And I like your idea for how to spend that time better than mine."

"Maybe you'll like my next idea," Rose said, kissing him.

Jack pulled her closer. "I'm liking it so far."

"Oh no." Rose pulled away.

"No?" Jack was confused.

"No," Rose said again. "Not yet."

Jack watched her disappear into the bedroom, his curiosity—among other things—aroused.

"Mr. Dawson," she said haughtily, stepping into the doorway, clad in only a green satin robe and her pearls.

"Yes?" Jack answered, eager to play along with whatever game she had devised.

"I believe there's something you can do for me."

"Oh is there?" Rose held out her hand. In her palm lay a dime. "I see," he added. He stepped forward and took the dime.

"Come along," Rose commanded, leading him into the bedroom. She had already set up his supplies. There was an easel and canvas and paint, as well as his sketch paper and pencils.

"Do I choose?" he asked.

She nodded. "I want you to do this the way you like best." She took a step back and let the robe fall to the floor. Jack felt his knees weaken. Seeing her body affected him the same way every time.

"Lie down on the bed," he said quietly.

Rose smiled. "Are you sure it's a bed this time?"

"Oh, I'm sure."

The force of his look made Rose shiver slightly. She knew what was behind it—and she liked it. She lay down as he picked up a pencil and piece of paper. He sat down in a chair across from her.

"Okay," he said and proceeded to pose her.

Sometime later Rose said teasingly, "You're not blushing this time. Could it be that I have become as boring as a landscape?"

"I've never thought about a landscape what I'm thinking about you right now," Jack said.

This time Rose blushed. "And what would that be?" she asked.

"Oh no, I'm not telling. You'll just have to wait and see."

It seemed to Rose that an eternity passed before he looked up from the paper and said, "Finished." She sighed in relief. She didn't think she could have taken his eyes on her for another second without giving up the whole thing and going over to him. _Was it this bad last time?_ she thought.

"Was that a sigh?" he asked, laying the drawing aside. "That sounded almost relieved." He stood over her. "This was your idea, you know."

"Well, I have a new idea," Rose said. She reached up and ran a hand along his thigh.

Jack shuddered. "So do I." He fell onto the bed beside her. She grabbed him, pulling him onto her as his mouth found hers. It felt like his hands were touching every inch of her body. Rose groaned and wrapped her legs around his hips.

"I'm overdressed, don't you think?" he gasped between kisses.

"Then do something about it," Rose ordered. "Quickly."

…

Three days later Rose woke up to find Jack gone. His shoes were missing but his art supplies were still there. She knew what he wasn't doing, but that still left a million other things he could be doing. Puzzled, Rose got out of bed and went about her normal morning routine. She showered and dressed and fixed herself breakfast. As she finished up her cup of coffee, she heard the sound of Jack's key in the lock. A moment later he walked into the kitchen, a grin on his face.

"There's my girl," he said, kissing her hair.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Taking care of some things." He sat down and began buttering a slice of toast.

"What?" Rose hoped she didn't sound paranoid or like she didn't trust him.

"You'll see," he assured her. "Tonight all will be revealed."

Rose leaned back in her chair. They were going into their second year together and she still wasn't any good at figuring out his surprises. Nor was she any more adept at anticipating them.

 _What could it be?_ she wondered. And then it hit her. "I have something I need to take care of today too," she said.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. But you can't know about it yet."

 _Mostly because I don't know what it'll be yet_ , she thought. How could she have forgotten? _Well, you remember now, that's all that matters._ After breakfast Rose left. She wandered the streets, hoping inspiration would strike her. She had just about given up when suddenly it hit her. The perfect thing.She made it home by mid-afternoon. "Whatcha got?" Jack asked, eying the package in her hands.

"You'll see,"' she said, "When I can see what you did."

"Fair enough." Jack turned his attention back to the book he was reading.

"You're not even a little more curious than that?" Rose baited. She wanted so badly to know what he had been up to.

"Oh I am, but it's not time for mine yet, so…" He shrugged.

"When will it be?" Rose asked, trying to hide her own curiosity.

"What time is it now?"

Rose checked her watch. "Three."

"You've got about four more hours then."

Around six o'clock Rose's attention was ripped from the book she was reading by the sight of a very well-dressed Jack leaning against the doorframe. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Waiting for you."

Rose wasn't sure what to say. "Oh," was all that came out.

Jack smiled. Already she was speechless. Mission accomplished. Meanwhile, Rose was rushing to get dressed. She didn't know what he had up his sleeve, but by the look of things she was going to like it. _But you like everything he does_ , she reminded herself.

"Do I have to close my eyes this time?" she asked as they set out.

For a moment Jack considered making her, but in the end he shook his head. "Not this time," he said. "Not unless you want to."

"I think I'd prefer to see where we're going," she replied. "But I wouldn't mind having your hand all the same." Rose was surprised when they ended up on the pier, though, in hindsight she knew she shouldn't have been. "Jack!" she cried. "It's—you—you remembered!"

"Of course I remembered," he laughed. "I said we'd do it."

Rose looked up at him. Love shone in her eyes. "I didn't want to believe you when you said it because then it was just an impossible dream."

"Well, it isn't anymore." He put an arm around her. "It's real—and it always will be."

"Not to spoil the moment, but why did you have us get all dressed up?" she asked.

"To throw you off."

And so they rode the rollercoaster a total of ten times. It took four times for Jack to throw up and another six before Rose finally did. He was beyond relieved when her iron stomach finally gave out.

"You're the one who said we would ride the rollercoaster until we threw up," she reminded him as they walked along the beach, beers in hand.

"I know. I just didn't think you'd hold me to it," Jack laughed.

"So this is what you were doing this morning, huh?"

"Some of it. Not all."

"There's more?" Rose asked incredulously. "What else could there be?"

"Looks like you forgot something after all," he said as they came upon a man with a horse.

Rose gasped as she remembered. "Are we really?"

"Oh yes," he said, taking her hand to help her on. She hesitated before swinging her leg over the side. "Good," he said. "I didn't have to teach you how after all."

"You still might have to."

Jack climbed on behind her. He put the reins in her hands and his hands over hers. "You okay?"

"I've ridden a horse before, Jack. Just not like this."

"Too much?"

"No. Just different is all. But I like it."

They rode down the beach, the light from the full moon shining down on them. Rose couldn't believe she was really doing—had done—everything they'd said they would. Neither could Jack. Even as he'd said it, he'd told himself not to believe it.

Rose sighed happily. "I never thought this would happen," she said.

"Me either."

"This time last year—or well, about a week ago this time last year," she corrected herself, "I didn't expect to have much happiness in life. I didn't even want to stay alive all that much."

Jack kissed her cheek. "I wish you'd never felt that way, but…" he wasn't sure how best to say what came next.

"I'm thankful for it," Rose said, as if she'd read his mind. "If I hadn't, I would never have met you." She turned her head so she could see him. "I love you, Jack."

"I love you, Rose."

"My turn," Rose said when they returned home. She hurried into the bedroom and came back with the package from earlier that day and another one.

"What is this?" Jack asked, taking them.

"Open it!"

Inside the first one he found a leather portfolio with a card. It said: For those drawings you want to keep separate from the rest. He chuckled to himself. He knew exactly what she meant. In the other he found a notebook.

"Isn't this yours?" he asked, confused.

Rose nodded.

"Why are you giving it to me?"

"I want to let you read it," she said slowly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I've shared so many things with you, and I think it's time I shared this."

"It's the best gift I've ever gotten," Jack said.

….

In July they found themselves back East again. Jack was getting a show at an important gallery in Philadelphia, and as much as Rose dreaded going back there, she was bursting with pride about Jack's accomplishments. He, on the other hand, kept encouraging her to do more with her own gifts. He'd sat down and read her notebook the morning after she gave it to him.

"What do you think?" she had asked nervously.

"I think it's incredible.". It was filled with essays. Essays about human nature, class, love, economic theories—everything. There were beginnings of stories and diary entries—some of those entries Jack hoped no-one else ever got to read. "I think you should keep writing," he'd said. "Seriously."

And she had. She's gotten a new notebook and was working on filling it. She'd continued reading voraciously, and Jack knew it wasn't the most popular thing for a woman to be, but he delighted in her intelligence.

And so they found themselves wandering through a small art gallery a few days before Jack's show opened. It wasn't the same one he was going to be shown in, and part of him was glad. He loved the success, but really at that moment all he wanted was to enjoy someone else's creation. He and Rose wandered away from each other—he to look at one thing and she at another—when he found himself standing next to a well-dressed, older man.

"Extraordinary, isn't it?" the man asked.

"Yeah," Jack agreed. And soon they found themselves deep in conversation. Rose came over after a few minutes. "You two looked so excited I almost didn't want to come over," she said.

"Oh, this is my wife Rose," Jack said. "Wait, I just realized—we never introduced ourselves."

"I'm Thomas Burnham," the man said, extending his hand.

"Jack Dawson."

"Now, where have I…" A look of recognition crossed his face. "The artist?"

"Yeah," Jack said. "That would be me."

"I must say your work is—" Just then a well-dressed older woman walked up. Jack and Rose stared at her in shock. She stared back at them, equally shocked. "Oh darling, you'll never believe who I just met," Thomas said, gesturing toward Jack and Rose. "Remember that artist I was telling you about?"

Ruth thought she was going to be sick. "Which one?" she asked pleasantly, her real feelings hidden. "You tell me about so many…Oh!" she exclaimed, as if she had just noticed Jack and Rose.

"What is it?" Thomas asked.

"I just didn't expect to see you here," Ruth said, looking straight at them and sounding as if she had never been more excited before in her life.

"Us?" Jack wasn't sure what was going on, but he didn't like it.

"Of course you!" Ruth cried, enveloping him in a hug. Jack looked at Rose, hoping she could tell him what to do. She stared back at him, clueless.

"And you!" Ruth hugged Rose as well.

"I see you already know them," Thomas said.

"Oh yes. This is my daughter, Rose and her husband Jack. Didn't I tell you about them?"

Actually, she hadn't told him very much about her daughter, and at that moment Ruth thanked God she hadn't told him Rose was dead.

"Well, I never!" Thomas beamed. "I can't believe when I mentioned how much I admire Jack's work you never mentioned he was married to your daughter!"

"I'm not much for boasting, you know."

Jack and Rose just stared at her.

"Why don't you two come to dinner with us?" Thomas suggested.

"Oh no, we couldn't," Rose said.

"What do you mean you couldn't? You're family—and more than that, you're family I haven't met yet. Not to mention all the things I want to ask Jack about his work." In spite of everything that was going on, Jack felt good about the compliment.

Ruth opened her mouth to protest, but before she could Thomas was sweeping them all out the door and onto the street. He hailed a taxi and the four of them piled into it before any of them knew what was happening. It was a tense ride, and little was said beyond Jack and Thomas's art talk. Fortunately, they were between Rose and Ruth.

Soon they found themselves settled at a table in a restaurant that only one out of the four of them knew the name of. The other three were too stunned to process much. "So Rose," Thomas said, "how did you and Jack meet?"

Rose hesitated before answering. "We met while traveling."

"Were you there?" he asked, looking at Ruth.

"Yes," she said tensely.

"Oh, she was very supportive of our relationship," Jack said. "Weren't you?"

Ruth glared at him. "Well, some things are just mean to be," she said.

Jack grinned. "I agree. So, how did the two of you meet?"

"That's a long story," Thomas said. "We actually met when we were very young—probably around your ages. I was a friend of a cousin of Ruth's and we met at a party over the holidays. It was love at first sight—on my part at least." He sighed. "Unfortunately, she wouldn't hear of it."

"Why not?" Rose asked, finding herself unexpectedly interested.

"I'm afraid I wasn't quite…financially secure enough for your mother, my dear. Not then at least," he said with a chuckle. Ruth looked as though she might kill the next person who spoke.

"Well, isn't that interesting," Rose said. "I never knew that." She looked pointedly at her mother. "And so you chose my father over him because he had more money?"

"It was more complicated than that," Ruth said. "There were a lot of things to consider."

"I don't care what you considered back then," Thomas said. "I'm just glad I finally got you to marry me now."

"That's nice," Jack said. "It's nice that things worked out so well for you." He shot Ruth a meaningful look. "You know, some mothers would have pressured their daughters into making the same choice they made, but not this one. No, she realized what a mistake that would be, let me tell you."

"Good to see you learned a bit, dear," Thomas said, squeezing Ruth's shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

"I suppose I did," Ruth said. "I learned that trying to protect your child gets you nowhere." She laughed to deflect the bitterness of her statement.

"I think that just depends on what you try to protect her from," Jack said, taking Rose's hand.

"You sound as if you know what that should be," Ruth said.

"I think I have a pretty good idea."

"So, Rose," Thomas said, hoping break some of the tension that was building. "What do you do while your husband here is creating future masterpieces?"

"I write and, I study," Rose said simply.

"Really? What about?" Thomas asked.

"Well, a lot of things, but mostly I'm interested in politics and philosophy and economics."

He looked impressed. "That's quite a list you've got there. Are you any good?"

"She's very talented," Jack said, answering before she could.

"You think so?" Ruth asked in a voice that doubted she believed he could even read.

"Yes, I think so."

"Do you have any plans for what you write, Rose?" Thomas asked.

"Not really. I don't think I know nearly enough to begin putting my thoughts out there, but I hope to eventually. In fact I…I'd like to go to a university at some point." She looked at Jack, sorry she hadn't said something to him sooner.

"And how would you feel about that?" Thomas asked Jack.

"I'd love it," he answered, looking at Rose.

"You don't think it would ruin her as a woman—as a wife?" Ruth asked.

"No," Jack said emphatically. "I think if anything, it would make her better. She has such a wonderful mind. How could letting it grow be a bad thing? I know a lot of men don't feel this way, but I do." He squeezed Rose's hand. "Thank you," she said with her eyes. "Always," he said back.

Somehow they managed to get through the rest of the meal without any major incidents. All seemed as though it would be well until at the very end when Thomas asked where they were staying.

"Oh, we just got in today," Jack said. "We haven't quite settled that yet."

Thomas stated at them. "Haven't settled it yet?"

"No, we prefer to just, well, take things as they come," Rose said.

Ruth snorted quietly.

"Can't argue with that. I was the same way myself when I was your age," he said. "But I'm settling the issue of where you're staying while you're here—with us. And I won't take no for an answer."

"Oh no, we couldn't," Jack protested.

"He's right," Rose added.

"I said I wouldn't take no for an answer, and besides, I'm sure Ruthie here wants to spend some time with you." Had she noticed the expression on his wife's face, he might have picked up on the fact that spending time with Jack and Rose was the last thing she wanted to do. If asked, she mostly likely would have said she'd rather shove bamboo under her fingernails. She didn't argue though. It would have just caused a scene, and she supposed she should have expected something like this to happen, what with the way she had greeted them. _You had to_ , she reminded herself. What would he have thought if they had told the truth? This way there was at least a chance they would play along. And so far they had, but she knew she couldn't be certain they would continue to do so. _Best to just keep quiet and hope this ends quickly._

About half an hour later Jack and Rose found themselves following Thomas and Ruth's cab. Rose was at the wheel, gripping it so hard her knuckles were white. Jack had almost offered to drive, but before he could she shot him a look that told him not to bother. "Driving relaxes me," she'd said in answer to his unasked question. He thought it was best to leave it at that.

It wasn't long before they came to a three-story, red-brick house that could only be described as "modestly wealthy." Rose took a deep breath and looked at Jack. Their eyes met. "It'll be okay," he said reassuringly.

"I don't think so," she replied. "I just do not see this ending well." And with that she climbed out of the car. Jack sighed. Deep down, he agreed with her.

A maid showed them to their room. It had an attached bathroom and was furnished with French antiques. "He may not have had money when he met your mother, but he sure has some now," Jack said, his eyes wandering over the finery around them.

"I wonder how he got it," Rose said.

"I wonder how they got together again," Jack said.

Rose set her bag down on the bed and began to unpack. "Oh, I'm sure when she got desperate enough she went looking for him," she said, shaking out a dress.

"You really think so?"

She nodded. "I'm willing to bet something like that happened. My mother doesn't keep people around unless they can be of some use to her."

"That's kind of harsh, don't you think?"

"Maybe, but it's true. You heard what he said, she only married my father because he was—what was it?—'more financially secure'."

"Yeah, I know, but she was doing what she thought was best."

"Are you saying I should have married Cal instead of you?"

"No!" Jack exclaimed, taken aback by the new direction the conversation was taking. "I just don't think you can compare the two of you, that's all. You had similar situations, but you chose differently. You're so different from her, and it's that differentness that I love." He hugged her from behind. "I'm just saying, maybe you shouldn't be quite so harsh. You could have ended up just like her—and we don't know what she was like at your age. Maybe she just wasn't as strong as you."

Rose sighed. "You're right—as always. It's just so hard not to judge her with everything that's happened."

"I know. It's hard for me too."

"In a strange way, it's like he's her version of you," Rose said with a small smile.

"So does that mean your father was her version of Cal?"

"I suppose so."

"What was her like, your father?"

"I don't really know," Rose said slowly. "We didn't spend a lot of time together. He was always too busy or trying to relax or just not around. I think he loved me, as much as he could, but I always got the feeling he would have rather had a son…especially when I said or did something that had to do with wanting to study or do something in life. He would just look at me and shake his head. I know he was thinking I should have been a boy."

"Well, I'm glad you weren't a boy," Jack said, lightly kissing her neck.

"Me too," Rose laughed.

"We should probably go downstairs, shouldn't we?" Jack asked a moment later.

"Probably. If we don't they'll come get us."

Jack offered her his hand. "Shall we jump then?"

"Sure you couldn't just jump by yourself?"

"Oh no, if I go in you have to come in after me."

"I knew you'd say that," Rose said as they stepped into the hallway.

They crept down the stairs. It seemed best to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. At the bottom were two heavy, oak doors, one on the left and another on the right. Directly ahead was a long hallway. The door on the left was closed, but the door on the right was open just enough so they could see into the next room. It looked like a sitting room or parlor. There was a fireplace along the middle wall and delicate, beautifully upholstered couches facing each other in front of it. Paintings adorned the rest of the room. They stepped inside.

Jack let out a low whistle. "Right there with you," Rose said as her eyes circled the room. "Isn't that…?"

He hurried across the room to examine one of the paintings. "It is," he said, slightly awestruck.

"What?" She joined him. "Oh…it's—"

"Almost exactly the one you had."

A shadow crossed Rose's face. "I wish I still had it."

They studied the water lilies, each lost in their own thoughts, Jack wishing he had half as much talent as Monet and Rose just wishing she could figure out how they'd gotten to their current situation.

"Isn't it wonderful?"

They whirled around to see Thomas and Ruth standing in the door way. "Yes," Rose answered, avoiding her mother's stare. "I've always thought he was extraordinary."

"I wish I could do what he does," Jack said, studying the painting again.

"What you do is a bit different, I think," Thomas said, taking a seat on one of the couches. He gestured for the others to do so. Ruth sat stiffly beside him. Jack and Rose settled in on the other side.

"See, what I think you do," he continued, "is take what's inside and bring it out. You have an eye for what goes on under the surface of things."

"I've been told that," Jack said.

"By me!" Rose said, shoving him playfully.

"Hey, I didn't say by who!" he laughed.

Ruth watched their exchange disgustedly. Even now she didn't like seeing together. "So, do you still make a habit of sleeping under bridges, Mr. Dawson?" she asked, the picture of politeness.

Rose started to retort but she only got as far as "Moth—" before Jack stopped her. "I think she deserves to know how well we're doing, don't you?" he asked, looking from Rose to Ruth.

"Well—yes, you're right," Rose said, suddenly understanding what he was doing.

"Oh, are you only partially homeless now?" Ruth asked.

"I wouldn't call it that," Jack said evenly.

"What would you call it when someone has no home all or part of the time then?"

"We have homes, just not permanent ones."

"That's the way we want it," Rose added. "It's our choice."

"You wouldn't believe how much money we have now," he said.

Ruth's eyes widened in disbelief. "You?"

Jack nodded. "Me," he said with a smile.

Ruth didn't say much after that. She watched the other three carry on the conversation, ignoring any attempts to draw her back in. Jack's revelation had stunned her. She'd heard the way they were talking about him, as if he were somehow important, but she'd never imagined he actually had money now. Occasionally his eyes would land on her for a moment. She'd stare back at him, unable to even form her usual disgusted glare. She hated him so much more now, and it was ironic because the very thing that caused her to dislike him in the beginning was now gone.

 _He has money_. It kept repeating in her head like a mantra. That might not have been so bad if he had actually been using it. But no, they weren't doing anything at all. They hadn't said what, exactly, they were doing but she was certain it was little more than traipsing around the country like a pair of gypsies.

And she'd wanted so much for Rose.

It seemed to Ruth the evening ended very quickly. No sooner had they sat down then they were standing back up again and heading off to bed.

"Well, that was…" Rose said once they were alone in their room.

"Yeah…" Jack began removing his shoes. "I'm not really sure what that was."

"You and my mother looked like you were going to kill each other at one point," Rose said a few minutes later as they climbed into bed.

"I seem to recall you looking a bit testy yourself," he replied. She snuggled up against him.

"Maybe we should just say my mother does not bring out the best in us."

"You're not wrong." He kissed her. She deepened it. "Are you trying to tell me something?" he asked quietly.

"Maybe."

"You do realize your mother is somewhere in this house, right? Any idea what she'd do if she knew what you were up to?" he teased.

Rose jumped up. "Oh God, you're right! What is wrong with me?" she asked, as if repulsed by herself.

"Nothing!" he sat up and put an arm around her. "Oh no, honey, no, I was just…teasing you—and badly."

"I never realized how much this still bothers me," she said.

"What? Your mother?"

"I know how much she bothers me." Rose laughed humourlessly. "I just thought I'd gotten over all my sexual issues."

"You had issues?" Jack looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

"You know I had issues," she said.

"Yeah, I know, but you never seemed to let them affect you all that much. I never thought they were that bad."

"Really?' She looked somewhat relieved.

"Really. I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much this was bothering you. What can I do?"

"Oh it wasn't until you mentioned my mother…it—it's fine, really. I don't know why being around her does this to me."

"It's understandable. You two do not have the best history."

"Neither do you two," Rose said, her face breaking into a smile, "Did you see her face when you said 'Do you know how much money we have?'" She laughed. "It was amazing!"

Jack laughed with her. "Yeah, that was kind of a good moment for me."

Once the laughter subsided Rose said, "You know I never cared if you ever made any money, don't you?"

"I know." Jack kissed her again. "But I'm glad I did. For both of us."

She lay back as his lips began to travel down, pushing everything else out of her mind.

"How much do we have?" she asked, sometime later.

"I'm beginning to doubt whether I did that right," is all he said.

…

Jack woke up at dawn the next morning. He knew there was no hope of getting back to sleep the second his eyes opened. He envied Rose's ability to stay asleep all day for a moment before sliding out of bed and going in search of some clothes. He didn't see anyone else up as he made his way downstairs. With nothing else to do he wandered into the sitting room from the night before. As he gazed at the extensive collection that adorned the walls, his desire to sleep past daybreak was forgotten.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard the sound of a door closing and a throat clearing. He turned around to see Ruth. Her expression was unreadable.

 _This is gonna be interesting_ , he thought. _Just us_. "Came to do some early morning veiled insults?" he asked cheerfully.

She just stared at him. "No. That's not what I had in mind." She gestured for him to sit. He eyed her warily for a moment before sitting down across from her.

"What did you have in mind then?" His curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Well, I did some thinking last night, and I wanted to say that maybe I was wrong about some things."

"Uh-huh. Go on."

"You're not making this any easier for me," she said petulantly.

"Don't see why I should." He sat back and waited to hear what else she had to say.

"Maybe I judged you too quickly. Maybe I wasn't looking at the big picture."

"Can't argue with that." Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But what I want to know is, did this sudden change of heart happen before or after you found out I had moved up in the world?"

Ruth's face reddened. "How dare you ask such a thing!"

"I thought so."

Ruth stood up. "I should have expected as much from-from you," she snarled.

Jack jumped to his feet. "See, that's it. That's why I don't believe you. You come in and start talking about how wrong you were, and then you go and say something like that."

"What do you expect when you question my motives?" she snapped.

"How can I not? Give me one reason to trust anything you say."

Ruth was stumped. What's more, he was right. She hadn't decided she had been wrong all along. However, she had decided it would be best to cultivate a relationship with the two of them. She'd been so sure he would be the easy one to convince. He was always so calm and amiable, though "weak" was the word she had used most often to describe him. Now here he was proving her wrong.

"I understood when I thought you were worried about Rose's future. I understood when I thought you did the things you did because you wanted her to have the best life she could, and the life you were pushing her into, you believed, was the best possible. I understood why you hated me then. What I don't understand is why you still do, why you seem to hate her now. Maybe I had nothing when she met me, but that's changed."

"And it's all well and good that you've managed to scrape together a few pennies, but what are you actually doing with them? If you can do so much now why are you still letting her live like a tramp?"

"That's what she wants," Jack said, forcing himself to remain calm. "If she said she wanted to live on the moon I'd find a way to get her there. She knows that."

"But she doesn't know what the world can be like. You do. You shouldn't be encouraging her in these impossible ideas of hers."

"Yeah, I do know what the world can be like, and so does she. She is so much stronger than you give her credit for, but when she can't be, when there's something that's just too much for her, I'll be there to take care of her. And as for her ideas, what's so impossible about them? Maybe what she wants to do is unconventional, but so is our entire relationship. There's no way I couldn't support her."

Ruth just shook her head. "You're both so..."

"Foolish?" Jack offered.

"Something like that."

"I don't care how you feel about me, but don't make her suffer because of it."

Ruth didn't respond. She just walked toward the door. Hand on the knob, she turned to him. "Maybe you're not completely wrong, but that doesn't mean I think you're right either."

"I can accept that."

"And exactly how much money do you have?"

Jack laughed. "I should have known that was coming."

"Seriously. How much?" Ruth persisted.

"I wasn't aware you needed to know that," he said, stepping past her.

He met Rose at the top of the stairs. "I shouldn't be surprised anymore when I wake up and find you gone," she said.

"I guess I do kind of make a habit of it," he said sheepishly.

"Just promise me you'll leave a note if you're not coming back," she said.

"How about if I promise to never not come back instead?"

"I guess I can live with that," Rose said, feigning disappointment.

"Oh well, if you'd prefer..." He turned and started back down the stairs. Rose rolled her eyes but caught up with him anyway. "Thought you didn't much care if I left?" he asked as she slipped her hand into his.

"I changed my mind."

Jack noticed Ruth was nowhere in sight when they passed the sitting room. No-one else was around either. It was almost like being in an exquisitely decorated tomb. They hurried down the hallway, hoping to find signs of life at the end. They came to a door that led out to a seemingly endless garden. Stone paths formed a maze through it. A majestic willow tree stood at the center.

"It's so beautiful," Rose gasped.

"It's almost enough to convert me to landscapes," Jack said.

"Really?"

"No. But I do want to do something with this." He looked around, taking it all in. His gaze settled on the tree. "Rose, how are your tree climbing skills?"


	12. Chapter 12

"What?" Rose asked.

"Your tree climbing skills," Jack said. "How are they?"

"I-I don't have any," she said.

"I should have known that." He looked from her to the tree and then back to her again. "It's not hard. Come on." He took her hand and began walking toward the tree.

She tried to pull him back. "Jack no!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Ten minutes later she found herself perched on a branch, gripping it so tightly her knuckles were white. "Why did I let you drag me up here?" she asked, smiling in spite of herself.

Jack shrugged. He leaned casually against the tree, feeling no need to hold onto anything. "Guess I just have a gift," he grinned.

"If I fall out of this tree-"

"You won't fall," he said soothingly. "You're fine. Just relax. We're not even that high up."

Rose took a deep breath and loosened her grip on the branch. A cool breeze blew her hair back. "Maybe this isn't so bad," she said.

"I can't believe how much you didn't do as a child," Jack said.

"Believe it."

"You know, maybe we've been going about this all wrong. Instead of exploring the world, maybe we should just stick to exploring all the childhood experiences you never had."

Rose laughed. "Oh yes, let's!"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Okay. We'll do it."

"What's next then?"

"Well, have you ever swung into a lake on a rope?"

She gave him a look.

"Then we're doing that next, but first.." Jack leaned forward and jumped out of the tree. "There's something else I wanna do," he said, looking up at her.

"What? Trap me up here?"

"No! I'll get you down in a minute. Just hang on a sec," he called as he ran back into the house.

"I'm not really sure what else I can do," Rose said to herself after he was gone.

"Haven't seen either of them today," Thomas remarked to Ruth as they strolled through the garden "I wonder what they're up to?"

"It could be anything," Ruth said, not entirely unkindly. As they came closer to the tree they began to hear voices.

"That's probably them now," he said. Once they got a little closer they could see Jack standing beneath the tree, looking up at Rose.

"What does he have her doing now?" Ruth asked.

Thomas shushed her. "Just watch for a moment."

"Let me see it!" Rose cried.

Jack shook his head. "You have to come down first."

"It's of me!"

"Doesn't matter. Come down if you want to see it."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" she asked.

"Well, you could climb down," he suggested.

"I'm not sure I can," she said nervously.

"You could jump."

"It's an awfully long way to fall," she said.

"I'll catch you," he promised.

"Is there a third option?"

No answer. She looked down and saw he had disappeared. "Jack?" she called.

"Right here," he said, suddenly appearing at her elbow

. "How did-oh, never mind," she said.

"Still want that third option?" he asked.

"What is it?"

Thomas and Ruth watched Jack climb out of the tree with Rose on his back. "There really is something wrong with them," Ruth said, shaking her head.

"I wouldn't say that," Thomas said. "We were like that once-or we could have been at least."

She chose not to respond. They made their way over to Jack and Rose, who were laughing hysterically.

"Good morning," Thomas said cheerfully.

"How long have you been there?" Rose asked, embarrassed they hadn't noticed them before.

"Oh, not that long," he said.

"Long enough," Ruth said. Jack shot her a look. "You looked like you were enjoying yourselves," she added.

"We were," Jack smiled.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Thomas asked.

"I forgot all about it," Rose said, "What with the early morning tree adventures."

"Actually, so did I," Jack added.

"Well, we haven't had anything either, so why don't you come with us?" Thomas suggested.

Rose watched her mother's face for signs of displeasure but, much to her surprise, saw none. Jack was watching as well and was pleased when her mouth didn't form its usual grimace. "Sure," he said.

…

Rose was at a loss to explain the sudden change in her mother. During breakfast she hadn't thrown any veiled insults at Jack and there were a few moments when it seemed like she was actually trying to be pleasant. Rose wasn't sure how she felt about the situation. Seeing her mother as a simple enemy was much easier than trying to see her as a whole person. She was still puzzling over it on a walk with Jack later that afternoon.

"Whatcha thinking about?" he asked, hoping to draw her out of the daze she'd been in most of the day.

"Nothing," she said dismissively.

"Doesn't look like nothing. Want to talk about it?"

"It's stupid really, but did you notice anything different about my mother this morning?"

"Like how?"

"Well, there's the fact that she wasn't finding some way to attack you every few seconds."

"Come to think of it, I did notice a lack of politely delivered insults."

"You don't think that's strange?"

"It's different, I'm not sayin it isn't."

"I just can't figure out why. What's the reason for the sudden change?"

"Maybe she's just trying to reduce some of the tension, you know?"

"Maybe." Rose didn't sound convinced.

"Well, since you brought her up, there is something I wanted to ask you about," Jack said.

"About my mother?" Rose asked, confused.

"No, about something she said. Remember last night when she was talking about how we don't have a home?"

"Yes."

"That was something I'd actually been meaning to bring up at some point anyway, and since she already did I might as well. We don't have a home, and right now that's alright, but we'll want one eventually," he said.

"Jack, what are you trying to say exactly?"

"Just that it might be nice to have a place we know we can go back to, you know? So when we get tired of wandering there'll be someplace that's just ours."

"How long have you been thinking about this?" she asked.

"Awhile now actually," he admitted. "I just wasn't sure how to bring it up before."

Rose considered his words. "Where would it be?" she asked.

"Where do you want it to be?"

Disbelief shone in her eyes. "I can decide?"

"If you want to. I don't care where I am as long as I'm with you, and I want you to be happy."

Rose shook her head and smiled. "We're in a bit of a bind then because I feel the same way."

"Oh whatever will we do," Jack said throwing his head back and looking up at the sky. Despite his dramatic gesture he wore a grin. "We don't have to decide anything right now," he added. "But it couldn't hurt to think about it."

"So when you said it was up to me, did you actually mean I could choose anywhere?"

Jack nodded. "Meant just that."

They lapsed into silence until Rose asked, "And when you told my mother she wouldn't believe how much money we have, how much were you talking about exactly?"

"Didn't we already talk about this?"

"If by 'talk about' you mean I asked and you used that pretty mouth of yours to distract me-" Jack couldn't stop himself from blushing slightly. "-then yes, we talked about it."

"Okay, I see your point. But why the sudden interest?"

"You brought it up," she said simply. "And then you wouldn't talk about it again."

He frowned. "To be honest I only brought it up to upset your mother. Talking about it makes me uncomfortable for some reason."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to-"

"No," he cut her off. "You have a right to know, and it shouldn't make me feel like that anyway. I earned it, didn't I?" _Well, part of it_ , he thought. He'd put Cal's money into the same account as he was putting the money he was making, and he'd put the Heart of the Ocean into a safety deposit box. It seemed like the best thing. Too much time had passed for him to be able to explain to Rose why he hadn't told her about it in the first place, and fortunately she'd either forgotten or decided not to ask where the money for her ring and wedding dress had come from.

"I can't give you a number," he continued, "but I can say we don't have to worry about anything. And even if I never sell another painting there's a good chance we still won't have to worry about anything."

….

The next day and a half were uneventful save for Ruth's continued attempts to refrain from criticizing everything around her. At one point Jack caught her watching him and Rose together and he couldn't be sure but it looked like she just might have been on the verge of a very small smile.

Finally it was time for Jack's opening. All four of them were going, but Rose insisted, much to Jack's relief, that they travel separately. "Thought you could use a few minutes of peace," she said, starting the car.

"Thanks."

Jack sucked in his breath as they walked in. "That is a lot of people," he said.

Rose squeezed his hand. "This one will end better than the last one," she said. "Trust me."

Soon Jack was surrounded by people, all of whom couldn't stop talking about how amazing he was. Rose stood by his side and smiled. It always made her happy when someone else saw his gift, though she wondered sometimes if she was the only one who knew it was just one of many.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite couple!" a loud, cheerful voice said.

Jack broke into a grin. "Molly!"

"Yes, the one and only," she said, enveloping Jack and then Rose in a hug.

"What are you doing here?" Rose asked.

"Not being the recipient of an invitation of either of yours," Molly said.

"We never thought to-" Jack began.

Molly dismissed his explanation with a wave of her hand. "It doesn't matter. I've actually been reading about you for some time now. You're really making a name for yourself, Jack."

Jack ducked his head. "I guess you could say that."

"Well, keep it up, whatever you want to call it," Molly ordered.

An hour later Jack was not only convinced that he had spoken to every person on the Earth but that they had all gotten together and agreed to only ask him the same five questions over and over. He'd had enough. "Rose, come on," he said quietly. She gave him a questioning look but didn't resist when he began leading her toward the door. On the way out he grabbed a bottle of champagne and tucked it under his arm. For all the fuss about him no-one noticed them leave.

"Where are we going?" she asked once they were in the hall.

He looked around for the door marked "Roof." "To see the stars," he said.

…

"Do you see that one?" Rose pointed at the sky. They lay on their backs, the bottle between them.

"I see it," Jack answered. "Do you see this one?" He pointed to another cluster of stars.

I see it," she said. She took a swig from the bottle and passed it to him. "Jack, are you happy?"

"What? Of course I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You didn't look happy tonight, and if you were, why are we up here when everything that's going on down there is about you?"

"I wouldn't call what I felt down there unhappiness. I just felt...overwhelmed...uncomfortable. I don't see why something I've always done is suddenly so exciting to all these people. I know you think I have a gift, and I guess maybe I do but sometimes..."

"Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes I get tired of talking about it, you know? It's like there's this one thing I'm really good at, and I never wanted to do anything else, but now it's like that's all anyone ever expects me to do. I can only do one thing, and that one thing is all anyone is interested in."

Rose moved closer to him. She laid her face against his. "I don't feel that way about you," she said. "I just want you to do what makes you happy. If this doesn't make you happy-"

"Part of it does, that's the problem. I love the feeling I get when I see someone look at one of my paintings or drawings and their eyes light up as though they were looking at one of Monet's or some other genius. The only other time I feel like that is..." He searched for the words. "The way you look at me sometimes makes me feel that way." He paused. "And it makes me happy that I can take care of us with something I love doing. I just wish I could avoid everything that goes along with it."

"You want the security, but you don't want to sacrifice the peace," Rose said.

"Yeah, something like that. I don't think I can get much more reclusive than I already am though," he said. He sighed. "It's stupid really. I should just be grateful for what I have."

"It isn't stupid," Rose said. "You deserve to be happy just as much as anyone else." She climbed to her feet and offered him her hand. "Come on." He gave her a puzzled look. "Come on," she repeated.

"And where are we going?"

"First to get some coffee because my head is starting to spin. After that, it's up to you"

He took her hand and smiled. "We're finding a lake."

…..

They left a note for Ruth and Thomas, gathered their things, and slipped off into the night. They didn't know where they were going, but it didn't matter. They were together, and it was a beautiful night.

"I can't believe they just ran off into the night," Ruth said after reading their note.

It said: Thank you both for opening your home to us. We know this is kind of sudden, but there's really no way to explain it. We just know it's time for us to go. We'll write-if you'll let us.

Thomas handed her a drink. "I don't know why you say their behavior baffles you so much."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you forget, my dear, I knew you before you were the pillar of respectability you are now."

 _Fall 1913_

 _Georgia_

"Can I open my eyes yet?" Rose asked impatiently.

"Not yet. Just a little further."

"Now?"

"Now."

Rose was awestruck. "Jack, it's...it's beautiful," she gasped.

"Do you really think so?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes! It's-I wish I could stay here forever." She turned in a circle, taking it all in. The house-a former plantation house built circa 1845-and the garden that surrounded it.

"Do you mean that?"

Two weeks later they moved in. It took all of three minutes for them to walk inside and set down their two bags. "Jack, I think there's something we didn't think about." Rose looked around their empty front room.

"I think you're right," he said. "What do we do about it?"

"Well, I guess we get things," Rose said. The words sounded strange even as she said them. For over year they had either lived without things—slept in the car or outside—or wherever they stayed had already had whatever they needed.

"Okay. The best way to do it seems to be to figure out what we need most," Jack said. "So, what would that be?"

"We could probably use a bed," Rose suggested. "And food. And something to cook it with and maybe something to eat off of."

"Yeah that didn't really narrow down the list like I'd hoped."

"We have to go shopping, don't we?" she said.

"Looks like it."

And so the intrepid—and unprepared—couple set out, determined to return with everything they would need for the first few days in their new house. Their first stop was a furniture store where they learned if they purchased a bed—or anything else—that day they could have it by the following Tuesday. Had they been in a town large enough to have two furniture stores they would have tried their luck at the next one, but as it was there was only the one. Reasoning that they might as well get all the furniture they needed at the same time they went ahead and bought everything at once.

After that they went in search of cookware, which Rose just stared at. She was torn between fear and ignorance. She needn't have worried. Jack didn't expect her to ever touch any of it. He had never said anything before, but he secretly liked cooking. "I can't believe you never told me," Rose said, astonished—and relieved—by his revelation. "I would have never guessed."

"It just never came up. We've never really done that much cooking for ourselves. When we were in Santa Monica last summer I let you do it all because you seemed to enjoy it."

"I did?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to take that away from you."

"Please, take it," she said.

They returned home just as the sun was setting. They dropped their purchases onto the kitchen counter and collapsed onto the floor. "I never realized how much went into just furnishing a house," Jack said. "Everyone always makes it look so easy."

"I know. No wonder we've avoided having a home for so long."

"It was kind of fun though, getting to decide what would go into our house." Jack smiled when he said the word "our".

"It was." Rose looked over at him. "I never thought I'd get to do anything like that—at least not before I married you." She brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and let her hand rest lightly on his cheek. He kissed her hand.

They moved toward each other, as if pulled by a magnet. Rose laced his hair through her fingers as their lips met. It was the kind of kiss that starts out slow but gradually grows more intense. Jack slid his hands down her body until he found the bottom of her dress. Rose let out a quiet groan as his hands began to travel up her legs, stopping just before they reached what she wanted touched the most. He pulled his mouth away from hers. "Guess we didn't need a bed as much as we thought," he said.

She just stared at him in disbelief. "Did you really just stop to tell me that?" Before he could answer she had pushed him onto his back and was straddling him.

"I don't know what I was thinking," he said.

She laid his hands on her thighs. "Don't think," she whispered. "Just touch me."


	13. Chapter 13

They were eating breakfast the next morning when out of nowhere they heard a knock at the door. "Who could that be?" Rose asked.

Jack set down his fork. "We don't know anyone here," he said. Puzzled, they climbed to their feet—they were still without chairs—and hurried to the front door. There they found three women of varying ages, all carrying food of some sort.

"Yes?" Rose said pleasantly.

"I'm Mrs. Theodore Mayfair," the oldest one said. She had her white hair pulled into a neat bun and wore a black mourning dress that looked like it could easily have seen the burning of Atlanta. She motioned to the woman next to her. "This is my sister, Mrs. Henry Osbourne." Mrs. Henry Osbourne had pale blonde hair that she wore in a bun similar to her sister's. Her dress looked like it had come from the 1880s. "And this," she said, indicating the third woman who smiled brightly. "Is our niece, Abigail." Abigail looked like she was about Rose's age. She had dark blue eyes and long dark hair that fell freely about her shoulders.

"We just wanted to come by and introduce ourselves," Mrs. Mayfair continued. "We haven't had neighbors down this way in quite some time."

"Oh, well how kind of you," Rose said. "I'm Rose and this is my husband Jack."

Jack nodded and smiled. "Nice to meet you," he said. "Would you like to come inside? We were just having breakfast and we don't really have anything to sit on, but if you'd like—"

"Don't you have furniture?" Mrs. H. O. asked.

"Not yet," Rose said. "We just moved in yesterday, and we didn't think to get any before then."

"Didn't you have any where you lived before?" Mrs. H. O. looked puzzled.

Rose nudged Jack. "Well, we've been doing a lot of traveling since we got married and just haven't settled down enough to give it a thought," he said. They accepted his explanation without question.

"We'd best be going," Mrs. T. M. said. "We don't want to keep you from the rest of your breakfast." She handed Rose a small card. "We live in the house about a mile down the road on the left. We'd love it if you came to lunch sometime."

And off they went, just as suddenly as they had come.

"What was that?" Jack asked, once they were safely settled back in the kitchen.

"I have no idea," Rose said. "They asked so many questions. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there to subdue them."

"I subdued them?"

"Okay, charmed them. Do you like that word better?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I just told it like it was."

"You can pretend that you don't know what kind of effect you have on women all you want Jack Dawson, but I know all about it. I was one of them," Rose said, pointing at him with her fork.

"You're the only one I care about having any kind of effect on," Jack said.

"I hope so."

Meanwhile the rest of the county was making the acquaintance of that "intriguing young couple that bought the Hammond place" thanks to their three new neighbors. Within two hours they had managed to pass the story of their visit to everyone they knew, and with each re-telling those who hadn't met them only wanted to do so even more. Jack and Rose found themselves meeting new people for the rest of the day.

"Where are you from?" a Mrs. Terence Spofford asked, peering at them over her glasses. She was accompanied by her maiden sister, a Miss Spencer.

"Well, originally I'm from Philadelphia, and he's from Wisconsin," Rose said.

"That explains the accents," Miss Spencer said.

Jack and Rose exchanged glances. "Accents?" Jack looked at them quizzically.

"Excuse my sister," Mrs. T. S. said. "She sometimes speaks when she shouldn't. All she meant was you speak like you're from the North."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense," Rose said, relieved. "I thought it was something bad."

The sisters exchanged glances.

And thus the mythology that was growing around Jack and Rose grew another branch.

….

A few days later Rose wandered into the kitchen while Jack was cooking. "Do you think people think we're odd?" she asked.

He didn't look up from the soup he was stirring. "I hadn't actually thought about it," he said. "Why?'

"I get the feeling we've become that eccentric couple. I don't know how to explain it exactly. For instance, just now those neighbors of ours, those two sisters, that Mrs. Mayfair and Mrs. Osbourne—"

"Oh. I remember them alright."

"Well, they were walking by and they gave me the oddest look."

"What were you doing?"

"Reading."

"That's all?"

"I had climbed into a tree…."

Jack looked up from his soup. "Were you dressed like that too?" he asked.

Rose looked down at herself. During their travels she'd taken to wearing Jack's clothes from time to time. She said they were easier to drive in, but she hadn't stopped. Jack wouldn't have said anything, but he suspected she didn't want to stop.

"Oh," she said. "See, we are odd."

"I don't think we're odd." Jack held out a long spoon. "Here, taste this."

"It's good. What is it?"

Jack looked pleased with himself. "Not telling. It's a secret. I made it up myself."

"And you say we're not odd…."

Jack brought the subject up again while they ate dinner. "I wouldn't call us odd," he said. "I'd call us eccentric."

"Eccentric?"

"Yeah. Think about it. I'm a reclusive artist, and you're my—"

"Odd wife?" she interrupted.

"No, you're my brilliant wife who sometimes forgets she's wearing pants when she decides to spend time in trees."

"Some people would say only an odd woman would wear pants," Rose argued.

"Who exactly are these people?" Jack asked bemused.

"Just people."

"My sweet Rose listen to me: I do not think you're odd. I think you're wonderful, and it doesn't matter if someone gave you a funny look. I'm sure if they knew how we met they'd be giving us both plenty of interesting looks, okay?" he said.

Rose sighed. She knew when she was defeated. "Okay."

"I do think your mother was right, though."

"About what?"

"I have been a bad influence on you." He shook his head dramatically. "Imagine what she'd say if she had seen you."

"That is not funny," Rose said, but she was laughing anyway.

…

"Look dear, it's a letter from Rose," Thomas said, handing Ruth a large envelope. She held it gingerly between her fingertips. "Well, aren't you going to open it?" he asked. Reluctantly she did. Inside the envelope she found a sketch of an old, impressive house surrounded by trees. On the back Jack had written _: See I told you I'd give her a home._ She didn't know why, but something about it made her doubted Rose had noticed him write it. Underneath that was a warmly restrained letter.

"What does it say?"

Ruth looked up. "What?"

"The letter. What's it say? How are they?"

"Oh, they're fine. They've bought a house, and it looks as though they're settling down, for a while at least. It sounds like they're happy," she said.

"Seeing as how they're staying still for a while, why don't you go visit them?"

"I couldn't do that," Ruth said incredulously. "They'd never have me."

"I don't know what happened between the three of you, though I have a theory, but I think there's a chance it could be worked out if you just tried. From the looks of it they're making an effort. Why don't you?" he said.

"I'll think about it."

…

A few weeks later Rose opened a letter from her mother. "I almost didn't expect her to write back," she said.

"She probably didn't expect you to write her first," Jack said.

Rose quickly scanned the letter. "Oh no," she said.

"What? Something happen?" Jack leaned to the side and read over her shoulder. "Did she really just say that?"

"I think she did," Rose said, disbelief in her voice. "Jack, what should we do?"

"I'm not sure there's anything we can do. If she wants to come we have to let her, don't we?"

"How badly do you want my mother in our lives? Because I could probably live without her," she said.

"Rose, calm down," he said soothingly. "It's okay."

"No, it isn't. If people who barely know us think we're odd-"

"Eccentric."

"Fine, eccentric can you imagine what my mother will say about how we live?"

"Your mother has a pretty good idea of how we live already," he pointed out.

"We'll tell her to come, and when she gets her I can wear your clothes on my walks and you can do all the cooking like usual."

"Exactly," Jack said. "If she doesn't like it, well, that's just one more thing she can blame me for."

…

On the morning Ruth was supposed to arrive Rose was a nervous wreck. She changed her dress three times, re-stacked books that were already stacked, and generally did a lot of unnecessary things. Jack watched silently, slightly amused by her antics.

"How can you be so calm?" she asked as they left to pick up Ruth at the train station.

Jack shrugged. "Maybe it's because I've accepted that if she doesn't approve of us there's not much we can do about it. I mean, I'd like it if she did, but what else can I do to make her?"

Rose considered his words. "I suppose you're right."

It didn't take them long to collect Ruth, who actually greeted them with each with a hug. They were very brief hugs, but as far as Jack and Rose were concerned it was the thought that counted. She couldn't help but make a face when Rose did the driving home. Hoping to deflect tension before it began Jack commented on Rose's driving skills and asked Ruth if she didn't agree. She grudgingly admitted that she did.

Ruth's eyes widened in awe when they reached the house. She'd seen the sketch, but seeing it in person was different. Jack and Rose exchanged amused glances while Ruth stared at the house. He doubted he could have impressed Ruth any more if he'd taken all their money and placed it in stacks for her.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Rose asked as they stepped inside.

Ruth nodded. "It really is."

Rose smiled to herself. "Come on, let me show you around," she said, motioning for her mother to follow her. Jack followed too. Even though he didn't care if Ruth approved of him or not, he couldn't help but be pleased by her reactions.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they'd gone through the entire house and gotten Ruth settled in. "Why don't you and your mother spend some time together while I go make dinner?" Jack suggested.

Ruth gave him a puzzled look. "While you-?"

"Yes, while I make dinner," Jack said. He laid a hand on Rose's shoulder. "I love cooking, and fortunately Rose indulges me."

"Oh. How-how kind of her," Ruth said sounding as though she didn't quite believe him. Rose breathed a silent prayer of thanks when Ruth let the discussion end there.

After Jack left for the kitchen Ruth turned to Rose. "What do you while he's doing that?" she asked.

"Well, I do different things. Usually around this time I take a walk."

"I see."

"Would you like to come with me?"

Ruth looked shocked by the invitation. "You wouldn't mind?"

"No," Rose said standing up. "I'll show you where all the parts of the garden will be in the spring."

"The garden? Who's going to take care of that?"

"I am." Rose smiled. "It's something I've always wanted to do."

"I didn't know that," Ruth said, following her toward the door. She had a feeling she would be learning a lot of thing she'd never known about her before.

They walked in silence for fifteen minutes before Ruth finally blurted out "Does he make you happy?"

Rose was somewhat startled by the question, but she didn't show it. "Yes, he does," she said. "He makes me happier than I ever thought I could be."

"You look happy together," Ruth said.

"I hope so."

They lapsed into silence again. Rose wanted desperately to ask her mother what she was thinking. She was baffled by everything that was going on. It was as though her mother had been replaced with a completely different person. She'd gone from cursing the very sight of them to grudgingly acknowledging their happiness. _What changed?_ Where was the woman she had known all her life?

"Rose, I know you enjoy the outdoors, but you really must be careful about going out in the sun so much. Why, with your complexion-" Ruth said. _There she is,_ Rose thought as her mother rambled on about skin care. As much as her mother's lectures had always irritated her before, this one seemed almost comforting. It was like being on familiar territory after spending years lost at sea. "Rose? Are you listening?"

"Yes, mother," she replied with a smile.

….

Rose was brushing her hair when Jack came into their room. "Today seemed to go okay," he said. He began undressing for bed.

Rose nodded. "You're right," she said absently.

"Are you alright?" he asked, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Something wrong?" She didn't respond. "Rose?"

"Jack, my mother asked me something today, and I didn't know how to answer her," she said. "I didn't know how to even begin answering her, and I just felt so confused...and ashamed." She dropped her head. "It's the same thing that happens whenever anyone else asks me."

Jack dropped to his knees. He gently lifted her face. "What did she ask?"

There were tears in the corners of Rose's eyes. "She asked why we didn't have children yet."

Jack felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. It had taken him months to stop constantly thinking about that very thing. They'd probably never see Cal again, but it didn't matter. What he'd done would be with them for the rest of their lives. Jack was torn between a sudden urge for revenge that he hadn't felt in a long time and the need to be strong for Rose. He pulled her out of the chair and onto his lap. She buried her face in his neck.

"I'm so sorry," he said. He hugged her tightly. "I'd do anything to change it. I'd go back and stop you from even meeting me if that would help."

"No!" Rose cried. She raised her head and looked at him. "If you did that I wouldn't care if I couldn't have children. I wouldn't care about anything."

"But it happened because of me-"

"It wasn't your fault. And if I didn't have you I don't even know if I'd want children."

Jack was shocked. "You don't?"

"It wasn't something I thought about until I met you," Rose explained. "I only wanted to have yours."

Her words sent a rush of love through him that was immediately chilled by the knowledge that it could never happen. "I wanted you to have mine too," he said, beginning to cry. She buried her face in his neck, her own tears flowing freely. He held her tightly and slowly rocked back and forth. There was nothing either of them could say to make it better. All they could do was hold each other and cry it out. Cry out the pain of losing something they'd never had.

The next morning Jack was up with the sun, as usual. He gave Rose a quick kiss and slipped out of bed. He dressed quickly and headed downstairs. He was outside watching the sun finish rising when Ruth found him.

"You're up early," he said pleasantly.

"So are you." She offered him a slight smile.

"Oh, I always am."

"Rose isn't up yet is she?"

"Nope. I'm afraid it's a bit too early for her."

"She always did want to sleep all day," Ruth said, not unkindly.

Jack laughed. "I don't know how she does it." He grew serious. "But I don't know how she does a lot of things."

"Such as?"

"Oh, nothing," he said dismissively. "It just amazes me to watch her sometimes, you know?"

Ruth wanted to agree with him, but she couldn't. She couldn't remember ever being amazed by her daughter. Frustrated, exasperated, shocked by her but never amazed. All the qualities in her that Jack celebrated were the qualities she had always tried so hard to chastise out of her. She decided to ignore his comment and change the subject completely. "How is your work going?"

Jack looked at her in surprise. "It's good," he said.

"Selling well I hope."

Jack couldn't suppress a smile. "Worried about how I'm going to take care of her?"

"No. I can see you're doing an excellent job of that."

"Thank you. I'm trying. I know it isn't the life you wanted for her, but-"

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, I've been doing a lot of thinking since the last time we spoke and-" she paused, almost afraid to continue, "Well, I realized that although you are not the man I would have chosen for Rose-" Jack suppressed the urge to share his opinion of the man she had chosen for Rose "-You do seem to make her happy."

"I'm glad you finally came to understand that," he said. "Her happiness means everything to me."

"Well, you make it obvious. The way you look at her alone shows how much you care about her. And I can see how much she cares for you too," she admitted. "I didn't want to, but there's no avoiding it."

"Been holding out hope she'd come to her senses and leave me?"

Ruth laughed in spite of herself. "Something like that. Jack,-" He held in his surprise at hearing her use his name. "-I wonder if you could clear something up for me. Yesterday I asked her when the two of you were planning to have children, and she got the strangest look in her eyes and refused to answer. It was as though I'd asked when she planned to leave you."

He chose his words carefully. "That's not for me to explain. It's up to her to tell you when and if she decides to."

"But she'll never tell me," Ruth protested. "She won't confide in me. She never has."

"Maybe if you tell her what you just told me there might be a chance. Let her see how hard you're trying to be okay with this, with us."

"Do you think that will work?"

"Won't know until you try."

Meanwhile Rose had gotten out of bed as well. She took up her usual morning post in an overstuffed chair by the fireplace in the downstairs parlor. Mornings were the time she set aside to write, and lately she'd been working on a novel. She hadn't told Jack about it yet, but she was actually somewhat pleased with it.

Except she couldn't seem to get into the writing mode. Her mind kept going back to the conversation with her mother the day before. She wished she had answered her question instead of avoiding it, but she hadn't know how. She knew Jack would tell her not to be, but she was ashamed of the fact that she couldn't give him children. It didn't matter that it was through no fault of her own. As unconventional as their life together was she couldn't bring herself to accept that they would never have a "family."

She had meant it when she told him she didn't know if she wanted children before she met him. Having Cal's children had never appealed to her. It wouldn't matter that half of her went into them. They would still be his, and nothing she did or said would have any effect on how they were brought up. But she'd wanted Jack's. Maybe not right away, but eventually. She'd liked knowing it could happen.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of voices. "Told you she'd be in here," Jack said as he and her mother came into the room. "How's the most beautiful woman in the world?" he asked, kissing her.

"I don't know. You'll have to ask her yourself," Rose teased.

"I just might not make you breakfast you keep talking like that," he said, trying his best to sound serious.

Ruth watched them silently. It was as if they had completely forgotten she was there. They only had eyes for each other _. You could have been like that_ , her mind said. _If you'd let yourself_. She shook away the thought. It was no use dwelling on that now. She'd made her choice, and it hadn't been so very bad. Besides, things had worked out in the end.


	14. Chapter 14

That afternoon while Jack was off painting, Ruth cornered Rose. "Is there any way we could talk?" she asked, sitting down beside her.

"Alright," Rose said. She laid her book aside. "Is something wrong?"

"No," her mother assured her. "Thereare just a few things I feel you should know."

"Like what?"

"Well, first of all, I just want you to know that after seeing you and Jack together I must admit you do seem happy. I know I said it yesterday, but it seemed necessary to say it again." She took a deep breath. "I know I haven't dealt with your decision to marry him very well, and I know I said some things that were completely uncalled for, to both of you. I understand now that it wasn't my decision to make for you, and I just have to live with the choice you made."

"Yes, you do," Rose said calmly.

"You have to understand, when you left Cal I was sure you were throwing your life away. I couldn't imagine Jack ever being able to take care of you. I doubted he could even take care of himself. But he's proven me wrong. And it's clear how much he loves you."

Rose stared at her mother. Had she really heard what she thought she'd heard? Was the woman beside her really her mother? "Thank you," she said. "I mean that."

"There's something else I want you to know," Ruth continued. "I had planned never to tell you, but now I think you deserve to know." She paused, gathering the strength to finish. "Rose, you have a sister."

Rose's head spun. "W-what? How? Where? You're saying you had another child?"

"No, you're my only child, but your father had two children. First there was you, and then there was Cynthia. Your sister."

"He had two children?" Rose was having trouble understanding what she was hearing. "And one of them isn't yours? So that means-"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"I met the woman, his mistress, not long before he died. She wanted to see him before he went. I didn't let her. I had always known she existed, but..."

"How could he do that?"

"Rose, what you have to understand is your father and I were never in love. I married him for his money. He married me because I was attractive and accomplished and respectable. He knew I would make a good, acceptable wife, and I did." She shook her head. "We never cared for each other in the least though. We lived together pleasantly enough, but...it was nothing compared to what you and Jack have."

"I can't believe it," Rose said. "I can't believe that all this time..."

"I'm sorry to just tell you like this, but I didn't know how else to do it. I just couldn't stand for you to go on not knowing any longer."

"Thank you for telling me." Rose's voice was distant. "I think I need some time to think about this, if you don't mind."

Ruth got up to leave. "I understand."

Rose was still sitting there when Jack came in a few hours later. "Hey," he said, dropping down beside her. He noticed her glazed eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You're never going to believe what my mother just told me."

When she finished, he said, Wow, that's... I don't know what to say."

"That's about what I said," Rose said.

"Why did she tell you now?"

"She said she couldn't let me go on not knowing." Rose shrugged. "To tell you the truth, it's not like her to talk about something like this, but she's been doing a lot of things I never expected lately."

"Yeah, but this is still—it's a pretty big thing. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I mean, I don't know her, and if my mother had never told me I'd have no idea she even existed. So, why should it affect me?" Rose didn't sound convinced.

Jack chose not to point it out. "Okay," was all he said. It wasn't up to him to make her deal with it or to force an issue where there wasn't one. If she wanted to talk about it, she would.

The rest of Ruth's visit wasn't nearly as eventful. She stayed another two days, and on the morning she was supposed to leave, Jack woke up feeling relieved. The air hadn't feel right since her revelation, and he hoped once she was gone things would settle again. He could sense Rose was uncomfortable around her, even though she wouldn't admit it.

They were eating dinner a few days after Ruth left when Rose said, "I'm thinking about writing to her."

He didn't need to ask who. "Really? Sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm actually not sure, but I just have this urge to meet her. I don't know why. It's like now that I know she's there..." She shrugged. "I know it doesn't make any sense."

"No, I think it makes sense. And I think you need to be sure this is what you wanna do before you do it. I know how prone you are to impulsive behavior."

Rose feigned shock. "Me?"

 _Two Weeks Later_

 _Philadelphia_

Cynthia Gibbons stared at the letter in her hand. She'd read it three times already, and it still didn't make sense. Why would this woman suddenly be contacting her? What could she possibly hope to gain by meeting her? She'd never been good enough for her father's "real" family before, so why now?

"Mom!"

"What is it?" she asked absently, still engrossed in the letter.

"Mom, can I go outside? Can I?"

"Sure."

The slam of the door brought her back to reality. Maybe this was a good thing. She looked at the door her daughter had just slammed. "Maybe there's something I can get out of this."

…

Jack dropped a letter onto Rose's lap. "She wrote back," he said.

Rose just stared at it as if she were afraid to touch it. "I wonder what she wrote," she said.

Jack dropped into a nearby chair. "Only way to find out is to open it," he said.

Rose quickly devoured the letter. "She—she wants to come here."

"What?"

"That's what it says. She wants to meet us, but she wants to come here to do it."

"Seems like that's becoming the popular option these days. No wonder we waited so long to have a home," Jack joked.

Rose cracked a smile. "Was that why we waited?" She grew serious again. "What should I do?"

"Do you want to meet her?"

"Yes.

"I say invite her then."

And so she did, never suspecting what she was getting them into.

….

Cynthia arrived a day before she said she would. Jack and Rose had offered to pay for her trip, and she hadn't tried to dissuade them. She checked into a hotel for the night and, after leaving her daughter with one of the other women there, set out to find them. Of course, she had no intention of letting them know she was there. The whole point of showing up early was so she could get a chance to see them before they saw her.

She had a vague idea of where they lived, but once she was outside of town her entire sense of direction was thrown off. Relieved, she spotted a large yellow house. As she got closer she saw two older women sat on a porch that ran the length of the house.

"Excuse me," she said as soon as she was within earshot. "I was wondering if you could help me find someone."

"You're not from around here, are you?" the older of the two asked.

"How'd you guess?"

"Oh, we know just about everyone for two counties, don't we Scarlett?" the second one said.

The one identified as Scarlett nodded. "Just about Melanie. Who can we help you find?"

"I'm looking for a couple that moved here recently. A Jack and Rose Dawson. Would you happen to know where they live?"

Melanie smiled. "Oh, we know where they live."

"Have to be blind not to notice those two," Scarlett said.

"Hush Scarlett. Now, let me tell you where you need to go..."

As pleased as she was to get directions, Cynthia couldn't help but be unnerved by what Scarlett had said. What had she meant? Obviously she thought there was something unusual about them, but what could it be? _Are you sure you know what you're getting into?_ she asked herself as a house that matched Melanie's description came into view. _No, I don't. That's why I'm here now._

She crept into the yard, not allowing herself to get caught up in the house. There was no-one in sight. It was silent. Taking care to remain as hidden as possible she made her way around back, ducking behind a large bush at the sound of voices. She watched as a man with bordering on long blonde hair and a red-haired woman came into sight. Their hands were clasped. As they got closer she was shocked to see the woman was dressed in a man's shirt and pants. Neither of them wore shoes. They were laughing about something she hadn't heard. They came to a stop a few feet from the bush she was hiding in.

Jack stroked Rose's cheek with his thumb. "I've missed seeing you like this," he said.

"Like what?"

"Happy."

"What do you mean? I haven't been unhappy." She thought for a moment. "Have I?"

"Maybe that wasn't the right word. Lately you've just looked, I dunno, weighed down. Your eyes haven't had that light in them in a while, that's all."

"You are the only person who could notice something like that," she said.

"Anyone could see it. If they just look. I'm the just the only person who's ever tried to see you."

"You're the only person who has seen me," she corrected him. She tilted her head up and kissed him. He moved his hands to her waist. Before she knew what was happening he dropped to the ground, pulling her down with him.

Between kisses she said, "You realize we're outside, right?"

"Is that where we are?"

"That's where we are."

"Well, I was just thinking, you know out of all the places-"

"Not out here, Jack."

"I wouldn't have actually asked you to anyway," he grinned. He jumped to his feet and offered her his hand. She took it even though she didn't need any help.

"Sure about that?" she teased as they headed into the house.

"Oh yeah. I prefer the kitchen-" was the last thing Cynthia heard them say. She quickly scrambled to her feet and hurried back out to the road. As she walked back to town she tried to understand what she'd just seen. Scarlett's comment was beginning to make more sense. They were odd. _Why was she wearing men's clothes?_ she wondered. _And why didn't it bother him?_

As she reached her hotel she pushed the questions from her mind. "Where were you?" asked the nine year old Stella when she collected her.

"Just working on securing your future," Cynthia said. Stella looked at her funny, but she didn't respond. She was accustomed to the cryptic things her mother said. She wandered off to read, she was quite a precocious child though Cynthia had rarely encouraged or even taken much notice of her abilities, leaving her mother to ponder. She realized that, as strange as what she'd seen had been, it had just confirmed her suspicions.

 _They have money._

….

Cynthia's wake-up time the next morning rivaled Jack's. She gathered her things and woke up Stella. After a quick breakfast they set out. "Who are we going to see?" Stella asked.

"My sister," Cynthia answered.

"Why haven't we seen her before?"

"We just haven't."

"What's her name?"

"Rose. Now stop asking so many questions, we're almost there."

Jack was sipping coffee, looking out the front window when he noticed a dark haired young woman approaching. She held a small girl by the hand. "Rose," he called. "I think she's here."

Rose rushed over to the window. "Is that her?" She smoothed her dress nervously. "What do I say?"

Jack took her hands. "You say hello. That's all. You're going to be fine. It will either go well or it won't. There's nothing you can do if it doesn't, okay?"

Rose nodded. She took a deep breath. "You can always do that."

"Do what?"

"Help me see."

"Thought that was my gift," he said, leading her to the door.

They met Cynthia on the porch. "Hello," Rose said, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

She held out her hand and was surprised when Cynthia took it. "Hello," she said. "You must be Rose."

Rose nodded. "Yes. And this is my husband Jack."

Jack smiled. "Hi."

Rose was right about the effect Jack had on women. Cynthia was feeling that effect even as they spoke. "This is my daughter Stella," she said.

Stella looked up from the book she was holding in her hands. "Nice to meet you," she said.

"Well," Rose began once they were settled inside. "Have you eaten? Jack already made some breakfast."

"We ate before we left, but thank you," Cynthia said.

"So..." Jack searched for something to say that would save them from an awkward silence. His eyes landed on Stella who was still reading. "What're you reading?" he asked.

"Descartes," she answered without looking up.

He looked at Rose. "Don't you read...?"

"Yes, I do," Rose said. "How do you like him?"

"Well, I think he relies too much on circular logic."

"So do I." Rose smiled. "You're awfully young to be thinking about these things."

"Am I?" Stella looked genuinely unsure.

"Oh, she reads everything," Cynthia said dismissively. "There's no way to know if she actually understands it."

Rose felt her stomach twist when she saw a familiar look in Stella's eyes. "It sounds like she does," she said, keeping her tone light.

"Why don't we let you settle in?" Jack suggested. He had heard the edge under Rose's pleasant tone. "If you want, we'll show you your rooms." He stood up and motioned to Rose.

"Yes," she said, standing up too. "I'm sure you'd like to put your things away."

"That would be lovely," Cynthia said.

A few minutes later, when they were safely alone in the kitchen, Rose stopped holding her thoughts in. "How could she say that?"

"What?" Jack asked, knowing exactly what she meant.

"About her daughter. That was—I thought only my mother would-"

"Rose, it's okay. You don't know anything about them," he said, hoping to calm her.

"But she's smart! I can tell. She's so young, but I can see it. When I looked in that child's eyes I saw myself," Rose said quietly. "Maybe it's not exactly the same, but it's close. She has a mother who doesn't value her intelligence either."

Jack sighed. He agreed with her, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He cradled her face in his hands. "My sweet Rose," he said sadly. "It isn't up to you to save her."

"Only she can do that, right?"

"Something like that, yeah."

On the way up the stairs Stella had noticed a room filled with books. Her interest was immediately sparked. She threw her bag onto the bed in her room and hurried back downstairs, hoping to make it to the room before her mother noticed.

And that's where she was when Rose found her. "What are you doing?" Rose asked.

"Oh," Stella said, startled. "I was just looking at all your books. You have so many." Her eyes were wide with awe.

 _So I can't save her. Fine_ , Rose thought. _That doesn't mean I can't give her a push to save herself, does it? After all, isn't that what he did for me?_

…..

Jack had opened his mouth to call for Rose when he caught sight of her brilliant red hair. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the room that had slowly but surely been converted into a library. Stella sat in a similar pose across from her. Books were spread around them. They leaned toward each other, whispering excitedly. The sight sent a pang through him. It looked so natural, like a mother and her child. Before he knew it, he was wishing it was.

 _No!_ He told himself. _You can't think like that._ It would only make their reality that much harder to bear. Yet he had to admit it had been much easier when he'd never actually seen Rose with a child, when it had just been some vague vision in his mind. Pushing his thoughts aside he cleared his throat and stepped into the library.

"You two sure move fast," he said.

Both of their heads snapped up. Rose surveyed the beginnings of the mess around them. "I guess we do," she admitted, chuckling.

Cynthia had come downstairs only moments before, stopping just around the corner from the library. She'd heard voices and wanted to try and catch what was being said without them knowing about it. After all, it might be about her. She was actually quite sure it was about her. Annoyed when it wasn't she strode into the library, trying her best to look as though she just happened to wander in.

"Well, there you are," she said gaily, catching sight of Stella.

"Yes, here I am," Stella said. Her voice held none of the enthusiasm of her mother's. "Where else would I go?" Rose smiled to herself, She'd caught the slightly sarcastic edge to the question. It was the kind of thing she remembered asking her own mother as a child.

Jack noticed Rose's smile, but he chose to try and ignore it. He could see she'd already formed a bond with Stella, and he was torn between encouraging it—they'd looked so happy together—and doing the responsible thing. As much as he wanted to think things could work out okay, he had a feeling they weren't going to. He couldn't have said why he felt that way. He just did.

They made awkward small talk until the early afternoon. Not knowing what else to do, Rose invited Cynthia on her walk. She reasoned that it had worked out okay with her mother, why not try it again? Jack and Stella stayed behind.

"So…" he said once they were alone. He had no idea what to do.

"It's fine. You don't have to pay attention to me," she said picking up a book.

"Really?" he asked, puzzled by her flat reaction.

She nodded. "Really. I'm used to it. None of the men my mother knows have ever been interested in me."

He felt his stomach sink. _Well Rose, looks like we're falling into the pit together._


	15. Chapter 15

Rose was discovering that talking to Cynthia wasn't any easier when it was just the two of them. In fact, it was even more difficult."So," she said. "I suppose you've been wondering why I got in touch with you."

"Actually I have been," Cynthia admitted.

"I know it was rather unexpected—"

"I'll say."

"It's just that, well, once I knew about you—"

Cynthia stopped in her tracks. "Are you saying you never knew about me?"

"Yes," Rose said. "I didn't even know you existed until a few weeks ago. Why, did you think I did?"

"Well—well, yeah!" Cynthia was surprised by how loud her voice was. She brought it back down to a normal level. "I mean, it's just that I've always known about you."

Rose felt as though she'd been hit. "You have?"

"Of course I have. You were the one he spent all his time with—the reason he never stayed," Cynthia said, suddenly angry. It wasn't fair. Why hadn't she been the one whose feelings were protected?

"Oh, you have it so wrong," Rose said, shaking her head.

Meanwhile Jack was ignoring his better judgment and talking to Stella. "What else do you like to do?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. She looked up at him. "I don't think I've ever thought about it."

 _No, no, no,_ he told himself. _You are not talking to a child version of Rose. It does not matter how alike they sound. You are not "too involved". You are not even involved at all. Do not become involved._

His self-lecturing was interrupted by her asking, "What do you do?"

"I—actually, it's easier to show you. Do you wanna see?"

She nodded eagerly. "Okay."

"Come on."

 _This is becoming involved. This is what becoming involved looks like._

Jack signed. "Yeah, I know," he muttered to himself.

The attic was a large, open room with windows on all four sides. The second he'd seen it Jack had loved it. It had the perfect lighting. It wasn't long before he'd taken over the entire room. Sketches were everywhere, paintings—some finished and some not—leaned against the walls. In one corner was a table where he kept his supplies.

"You did all of these?" Stella asked, obviously impressed.

"All of 'em," Jack said.

She moved to examine one of the unfinished paintings. It was a watercolor of a red haired woman and a blonde man standing at the edge of, well that part wasn't finished yet, their arms spread like wings. "That's you, isn't it?" She looked at him and then looked back at the painting. "It's both of you. What were you doing?"

Jack wasn't sure how to explain exactly what was going on in the painting, so he settled for the simple though cryptic answer of "Flying."

She nodded, accepting his answer as though it made perfect sense and proceeded to examine the rest of the room. He watched, telling himself not to get any more involved than he already was.

"See, I told you they'd be up here," Rose said. She and Cynthia stood in the doorway. Jack and Stella looked up from the piece of paper that lay on the floor between them. "How long have you been there?" he asked.

"We just got here," Rose said. "What were you doing?"

"Drawing," Jack said sheepishly. Rose raised her eyebrow just enough that only he noticed. He shot her a quick look and a shrug. She didn't respond. There wasn't anything she could have said that wasn't a repeat of what he'd already told himself.

"Did you do these?" Cynthia asked, surveying the room.

"Yeah, I did," he said.

"You're very talented," she said.

"Thanks. I'm okay," he said with a shrug.

"Okay?" Rose said incredulously.

"She's right," Cynthia agreed. "I'd say you're better than just okay."

"Alright you win," he said climbing to his feet. "Shall we all go back downstairs now?"

As the four of them filed down the stairs Rose's mind was drawn back to the way Jack and Stella had looked before she'd interrupted them. _That's what he would look like with a child,_ she thought _. He'd be wonderful_. She felt a rush of sadness as she realized it was something she would probably never see again.

What she didn't know was that she wasn't the only one who saw it.

The rest of the day went better than the morning had, though Jack kept noticing Cynthia staring at him. He told himself it was all in his head and tried to ignore it. He just hoped Rose wasn't noticing it too. He needn't have worried. Rose was noticing very little, and had he been less preoccupied with Cynthia's attentions he would have noticed the way Rose's words were coming out flat and expressionless. She sounded almost as though she were reading a script.

It was as though her mind had been split in two. There was one half that was paying attention to the conversation and directing her to speak when necessary, and there was one half that couldn't stop thinking about what she'd seen. No matter what she did the image wouldn't leave. It all would have been so much easier to bear if it would have turned out that Jack didn't have a way with children, but then again, how could he not? The longer she knew him the surer she became that Jack was one of those people who just has a way with everyone. Sometimes it seemed like there wasn't anyone he couldn't form a bond or at the very least carry on a conversation with. There was just something about him that drew people in.

And had she been less preoccupied herself she would have seen that something at work yet again.

That night Rose went up to bed early. Jack resisted the urge to ask why, but it wasn't long before he found a reason to follow her. When he got to their room he was slightly surprised to see light shining underneath the door. He quietly opened it just enough so his body would fit through and stepped inside. Rose was standing in front of the mirror—naked, her hands covering the scar on her abdomen. She was staring so intently at her reflection she didn't notice him come in.

"Rose?" he said tentatively, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"I was—I was just thinking," she said.

"What about?" he asked, though he was sure he already knew.

She glanced at her hands. "Nothing," she said. "It doesn't matter."

Jack reached around her, laying his hands over hers. "It does matter," he said. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but it does matter."

She sighed and leaned against him. "Will you just hold me?"

A little while later he was just about to drift off when he heard her say his name. "What is it?" he asked, suddenly wide awake.

"I can't sleep, and I think maybe if I told you what was going on in my head it might help."

"Okay." He turned onto his side so he was facing her, leaving one arm beneath her and one arm draped across her middle.

"You know for a while it seemed like all anyone said was how wrong we were for each other, how unhappy we'd be. They kept saying there was nothing you could give me, but the truth is you've given me everything I could have ever wanted." Her voice dropped. "I'm the one who can't give you anything."

At that moment Jack's heart felt like it was breaking. "Why would you say that?' he asked."I have you. I don't need anything else."

"You deserve more," she said sadly.

"What more is there?"

Even in the dark he could see the tears in her eyes. "Do I really have to say it?" she asked.

And suddenly he understood. "Rose, no!" he cried, pressing her to him. "Don't say that. Don't even think it. I want you I love you. Nothing can ever change that." He kissed her hair. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, do you understand that?"

"How can I be?" Rose asked tearfully. "Think about everything that's happened to you because of me—all the things you'll never have."

"I don't care." He kissed her. "None of that matters." He kissed her again, more urgently this time. "It doesn't matter what happened." Another kiss. "Or will happen." Still another. "Or won't." By this time they had shifted positions and she had somehow ended up beneath him. "I love you," he said.

"I love you too," she whispered. "That's why I feel this way."

"No, don't," he said. "Don't think about what we can't have or what we don't have. Think about us. Think about you and me. Think about what we have together. Rose we have something so special. Do you know how many people go their entire lives never feeling about someone the way we feel about each other?"

"But is it enough for you?"

"It's more than enough for me. It's all I'll ever need," he said. He laid his head on her chest and closed his eyes. He didn't intend to fall asleep but there was just something so soothing about the sound of her heartbeat that he soon found himself drifting off again, whether he wanted to or not. She ran her fingers through his hair until she felt him fall asleep. She lay awake and watched him and tried to make herself to believe him.

….

The next morning Jack opened his eyes and found himself looking into Rose's. "You didn't stay awake all night, did you?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I slept. I just woke up early."

He didn't quite believe her, but he didn't argue. He gave her a quick kiss and moved over so she could get up. "I'm going to have a bath," she said heading the bathroom attached to their room. He climbed out of bed and began dressing.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?" He paused and turned to face her.

"I'm sorry if I upset you last night," she said. "I just love you so much."

"I love you too," he said.

She gave him a half-smile and closed the bathroom door. After he heard the sound of water running he finished getting dressed. He was about to go downstairs when he realized he wasn't hearing anything but the sound of the water. It gave him an uneasy feeling.

"Good thing I'm getting a bit paranoid," he said. The water was still running, and Rose was lying in the tub, asleep. He shut the water off and pulled out to stopper so the tub would drain. He wrapped Rose in a towel and carried her to bed. "Knew you didn't sleep last night," he said. She sighed and settled into the bed. He laid the blanket over her. He lightly kissed her cheek. "That's my girl."

He had just begun cooking breakfast when Cynthia came into the kitchen. "Good morning," he said.

"You cook everything around here, don't you?" she said coming to stand next to him.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I guess you don't have much of a choice."

He chose to ignore the implication of her statement. "I like it."

She looked doubtful. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. It's something I've always liked to do, and I figure that's reason enough for me to be the one who does it."

"I've never met a man who looked at it that way."

"Well, I have heard the word 'odd' used to describe me a few times, though I prefer eccentric myself."

"I wouldn't call you odd. You're certainly unusual though."

Jack smiled. "I can live with that."

"Rose still in bed?"

"Yeah. I hope she stays there awhile. She didn't sleep much last night. Stella in bed?"

She nodded. "It'll probably be awhile for her too. I think she stayed up late reading. I don't' know what I'm going to do with her."

"I wouldn't let it bother me if I were you. She seems kind of advanced for her age."

"You think so?"

"Uh-huh. I know Rose thinks so."

"She likes the two of you. Especially you."

"Well, that's good," he said, trying to ignore the way she had begun staring at him. "We like her too."

"You're really good with her. It's too bad you don't have children of your own."

"Yeah," he kept his voice even. "It really is."

"But I guess that's not really up to you is it?"

Jack pretended not to notice that she had moved closer. "It wasn't up to either of us actually."

"What do you mean?"

"I'd really prefer not to talk about it, okay?"

"Okay. I just think it's a shame you don't have any. I can see what a wonderful father you'd be. Stella's own father wasn't even that good with her." She touched his arm.

He took a step away from her. "Cynthia, I'm not sure where you're heading, but if it's where I think it is—"

She stepped closer and laid her hand on his arm again. "Where do you think it is?"

He removed her hand. "Look, I am not gonna say what I'm thinking right now, but you need to understand something. Whatever it is you're doing or thinking is not gonna happen. Ever."

Her mouth twisted angrily. "Why not? Because you're with her?"

"Well, yeah!" He stared at her in disbelief. "I'm married to her. I love her. There's no way I would ever—"

"She won't give you what I can," Caynthia said.

"What are you—" Jack remembered what Rose had said the night before. "What did you say to her?"

"Oh nothing," she said innocently. "I just told her what I told you." She turned on her heel and hurried out of the kitchen.

Jack dropped into the closest chair. It was starting to make more sense. The question now was, what was he going to do? He didn't want to tell Rose. It would just upset her even more. But what else could he do? And then it hit him. There just might be someone else who could help him.

….

Jack was huddled on the floor of a closet just off the kitchen, phone in hand. He knew he looked a bit ridiculous, but he hadn't been able to think of any other way to make his call a secret one. He waited breathlessly for the ringing on the other end to be replaced by a voice.

"Hello?"

"Ruth!" he whispered loudly.

"Jack?"

He could hear the confusion in her voice. He dropped his voice to a normal whisper. "Yeah."

"Why are you whispering like that?"

"I just have to," he said quickly. "I don't want anyone to hear me. Listen, I need your advice on something-"

"What did you do?" she asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"I didn't do anything! I just have this situation I'm not sure how to deal with. Now, just let me explain. See, Rose-"

"What did you let her do?"

Jack sighed. "I didn't let her do anything. I don't let or not let her-" He realized he was on the verge of an endless argument. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "You remember that sister you told Rose about?"

He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he could see Ruth's mouth twisting. "Yes," she said stiffly. "Don't tell me Rose has taken it into her head to meet her."

"Well-"

"Jack Dawson!" He jumped. He hadn't been prepared for Ruth to yell. "How could you let her do that?"

"She wanted to!" he protested. "I told her to be sure, and she said she was. What was I supposed to do? And don't say stop her. I know that's what you're going to say so don't."

"Fine," she spat. "So what's happened?"

"More than I expected," he said.

Ruth listened, managing to keep her thoughts to herself. "Well," she said once he had finished explaining. "You do have a situation on your hands."

"I know what. What should I do? I mean, I feel like I should tell Rose-"

"Do not do that," she commanded.

"Why not? She has a right to know."

"That may be, but do you want to upset her if you don't have to? I'm not telling you to lie to her. I'm just saying that if it isn't necessary. If you can get this woman out of your house and I hope even out of your lives without Rose ever knowing about this, wouldn't that be the best thing?"

"I hadn't thought about it like that," Jack admitted. "You might have a point."

"Of course I have a point."

"Well, thanks for the advice. I wasn't sure who else to ask."

"Well, you're welcome," she said, trying to sound kind.

After they'd hung up Jack left the closet and returned the phone to its place. He looked around to make sure no-one had been watching. He didn't see anyone. He hurried upstairs, stopping on the second floor to look in one Rose. She was still sleeping. Satisfied that she was fine, he went up to the attic, whether to actually work or to hide he didn't know.

Meanwhile, several states away, Ruth was going over their conversation in her head and deciding that she didn't actually trust Jack to take care of things after all. One quick explanation and an hour later she got on a train.

…..

When Rose woke up a few hours later she wasn't sure how she'd gotten into bed. The last thing she remembered was getting into the bathtub and turning on the water _. Did I really fall asleep in the tub?_ she asked herself. _Jack must have found me._ She chose not to think about what could have happened if he hadn't. In fact, she was pushing all negative thoughts out of her mind. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on what would never be. It would only make the both of them miserable. "And he's right," she said. "What we have is enough. It's already more than most people ever get."

Suddenly energized she jumped out of bed and threw on the first thing she saw—which just so happened to be Jack's. Catching sight of herself in the mirror she briefly considered changing into a dress—after all, a dress was the "proper" thing to wear—but quickly decided she didn't care.

Rose was a bit surprised at how quiet the house was. She didn't see anyone on her way downstairs. The kitchen was empty and so was the front room. Just as she was becoming convinced she might be alone, she discovered Stella in the library, buried in a book.

"Hi," Rose said.

Stella looked up and smiled. "Hey."

"Do you know where everyone is?"

"I heard my mother in her room earlier, but if she came out I didn't see her."

"Hhmm…you didn't see Jack either?"

"No. Why?"

"No reason. Just curious." She turned to leave.

"Rose?"

"Yes?" She looked at Stella over her shoulder.

"Thanks for letting me just go through your books like this."

Suddenly she seemed much smaller to Rose. "You're welcome," she said, pushing away a pang of regret.

She hurried back up the stairs. There was one other place he might be.

"I should have checked here first," she said, stepping into the attic.

Jack looked up from the drawing he was working on. "How'd you sleep?"

"Quite well, actually. I didn't realize I was so tired." She sat down in the chair next to him. "What are you working on?"

He moved to cover it with his arm. "You can't see this one yet."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because it's a surprise."

"Uh-huh. So when do I get to see this surprise?"

"When it's finished," he replied.

"That clears things right up then," she said.

"Hope so." He pushed it further down the table so she wouldn't be able to see it. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, I am. That's why I came up here. I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about what I said last night. I know I already said that earlier, but I wanted to say it again anyway. I never realized how much actually seeing you with a child would affect me."

He covered her hand with his. "I understand. It was hard for me to see you with one too."

"But you could still have one," she pointed out. "I can't."

"Yeah—with someone else, but I don't want that. If it couldn't be with you, I wouldn't want it to ever happen."

"Jack, I don't tell you enough how grateful I am to have you in my life."

"You don't have to."

They gazed at each other for a moment. Speech had become unnecessary."You know what occurred to me?" Rose asked.

"That you're once again wearing my clothes? Not that I mind," he said, giving her a meaningful look.

"And why don't you mind?" she asked teasingly.

"Let's just say that you have qualities that my clothes sometimes bring out better than yours do."

"That's rather vague, but I'll accept it."

"Seeing as how it's the only explanation you're getting right now, I'd say you have to," he said, grinning at his own cleverness.

Rose laced her fingers through his. "You wouldn't be willing to elaborate for me later would you?"

"You know, I just might be willing."

At that moment Rose's stomach decided to remind her that she hadn't eaten yet. "We really will have to finish this later," she said. "I need some breakfast or lunch, rather."

"I do too, actually."

As they went downstairs she asked, "Have you seen Cynthia today?"

Jack hesitated before answering."Yeah, I saw her this morning, but I don't know what she did after I went up to the attic."

Rose didn't respond. It seemed a bit odd, but she told herself not to think about it too much. There were a million explanations. After they finished eating Rose went outside, notebook in hand. She hoped her mind might have settled enough that she could write. A crisp breeze blew her hair back as she settled into her usual tree. She shivered and wondered when it had started getting cold.

Jack stayed behind in the kitchen. Rose's question had caught him off guard. Where was Cynthia? He hadn't given much thought to where she'd gone after their argument. He hadn't seen her on his way to the attic, so he'd assumed she'd gone to her room. But it was a bit strange that she still hadn't come down. Almost as if she had read his mind, Cynthia appeared in the doorway. "Oh. It's you," she said.

His back was to the door. "Last I checked it was," he said. Despite his even tone, he didn't turn around, choosing to ignore his mind's declaration of his incredible immaturity.

She crossed the room and took the chair Rose had just vacated, which gave her a clear view of the door. "Jack," she said, sounding—she hoped—sincere. "I'm sorry about what happened this morning. I let my emotions get the best of me, and I said some things I shouldn't have."

He didn't answer right away. "I guess I can understand that," he said slowly. "And you seem like a great person _—" Are you lying?_ his mind asked. "—but there is no way anything could ever happen between us. I'm sorry if I did something to make you think it could."

She waved her hand dismissively and tried to appear contrite. "It's fine. I was wrong. Let's just leave it at that. You love Rose, and even though I don't understand why—"

"No, we're not going there," he interrupted, a slight edge in his voice. "If you knew her at all, you'd get it."

Cynthia could see a person's shadow moving along the wall, getting closer to the kitchen door and from the size of it, it belonged to an adult. "There I go again," she said. "Maybe I just don't think it's fair that she's always had so much. I mean, why should she get you too?" Before Jack realized what was happening, she leaned forward and kissed him.


	16. Chapter 16

"What?" Rose spoke just as Jack shoved Cynthia away. He jumped up and turned around, hoping the voice he'd heard was just an hallucination. It wasn't. Rose looked as though she'd been struck—by him, he couldn't help thinking.

"Rose—" he began, taking a step toward her.

"You—you—how could you do that?" she cried. It took Jack a second to realize she was looking past him.

Cynthia's face looked stunned, but her eyes held a flicker of triumph. "I didn't do anything!" she protested. "He kissed me—"

"Don't you even think about saying anything else," Rose said. Her voice had grown frighteningly quiet. Her body was tense. "I want you out tomorrow." She turned and left the room.

Jack followed. "Rose!" he called, trying to keep up with her rapid pace. "Rose!" He followed her outside. They were almost in the woods before she finally stopped. She threw her head back and breathed deeply. He touched her shoulder lightly. "Rose, listen—"

She lowered her head. "There's nothing to listen to," she said.

"No, there is. You have to believe I didn't—" he said, growing a bit hysterical.

"I do," she said calmly.

"Look, I know—" He stopped. "What?"

"I do," she repeated. "You don't need to explain anything."

"How are you so sure I didn't do it?" He wanted desperately for her to believe he would never hurt her like that, but he was more than a little taken aback by how easily she had.

"Jack, almost since the first moment we met you've asked me to trust you, and I have. I trusted you even when I still thought you were just some crazy guy interrupting my suicide attempt to tell me stories about ice-fishing. I don't know why. But what I do know is, at no point in all the time I've known you has there ever been a reason for me not to."

"You really trust me that much?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do. It's like when Cal said you stole the diamond No-one had to tell me you didn't. I just knew you wouldn't do that, even if it took a little while to realize it."

He pulled her into a crushing embrace. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do. And you know, that reminds me of when Cal showed up at that party demanding I give that damned diamond back to him. He was like a child demanding a toy back."

Jack froze. "That's why he was there?"

"Yes. Didn't you know?"

"I don't think you ever told me." _It really was my fault_ , he thought, guilt twisting his stomach into knots.

"He thought we had it for some reason. I didn't understand why."

It was then or never. "Well, that's because we kind of do," he said nervously.

Rose just looked at him, her expression unreadable. She threw her head back and laughed. And laughed some more. She laughed until tears rolled from her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned by her response.

She wiped tears from her eyes. "I'm fine. It's just—it's just so funny. It doesn't make sense, but it is."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but the time kept being wrong. I didn't want to remind you of him at first, and then there was the incident in New York and then—"

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she said, cutting him off. "Not knowing didn't hurt me did it? I never even wanted it in the first place."

"Do you want to do something with it?" His relief was evident in his tone and the way his body had suddenly relaxed.

"Actually, there is something we could do with it. Where is it?"

….

As Rose was unlocking the safety deposit box the necklace was kept in, Jack said, "I know you said it was okay that I didn't tell you, but I'm not sure you really get how my not telling you has affected us."

She paused. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it. If you'd known we had it you could have just given it to him. We could have avoided everything else that happened next." There was some part of Jack that wanted her to blame him. He knew it wouldn't change anything, but if it could all somehow be his fault it would make things easier. At least, that's what he kept thinking.

"I don't think that's true. Obviously it is in a literal sense, but how can we say something just as awful still wouldn't have happened even if we had given it back to him?"

"I actually never thought about it that way," he said pensively. "I've just been searching for a reason."

Rose sighed. "So have I. But maybe there just isn't one. Maybe no matter what we did or didn't do this was how things were going to end up—in one way or another." She opened the box. There it was. She really had never wanted it, but that didn't make it any less impressive. She picked it up and tucked it gingerly in her—Jack's—coat pocket, noting the irony of the gesture as she did it.

"What are you planning to do with it?"

"Do you want to keep it?" she asked.

"Do you?"

She shook her head. "I think if I didn't have you I would." He raised an eyebrow. "It would have more meaning," she explained. "It would be a link to you, but I don't need it to be that because you're right here. So I'm going to give it to someone who might be better able to appreciate the spirit in which it was originally given to me. Does that make sense?"

"I see what you mean. But are you sure?"

"If I'm not I have the walk home to think about it."

…..

Rose was sure she could feel Jack thinking the entire walk home. Even when they talked she could feel the heaviness of his thoughts. He hadn't said it, but she knew he was thinking about her, about what had just happened, and about the way she had reacted. It was only natural that he would be confused. She was the one who did the reacting, and she wasn't sure she understood it herself. And yet she couldn't see herself doing anything else. As crazy as it sounded, she genuinely trusted him that much. She couldn't have explained it in words. It was just a feeling—a certainty. He would never willingly hurt her.

She hadn't said who she wanted to give the diamond to, but she'd said enough to make it clear. He hadn't told her not to, but she sensed he had reservations about her decision. She didn't blame him. She did too. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

Once they were back home she headed straight up the stairs, and he followed. She stopped and turned. "Please don't go with me," she said. "I need to do this by myself, okay?"

"Okay." He started back down the stairs.

"Jack?"

He looked back up at her. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"If you don't know," she said, shaking her head and continuing up the stairs.

Cynthia threw open the door before Rose had a chance to lower her hand after knocking. "What do you want?" she asked, trying to mask her surprise. "Changed your mind? Want us to go now?"

"No. I actually wanted to give you something."

Cynthia eyed her suspiciously. "Why would you want to do a thing like that? I'm the bitch who just tried to steal your husband."

Rose smiled in spite of herself. Cynthia's wording made it seem much more comical than it really was. "You are that, but there was a time when you could have been more than that—at least, I had hoped you might be." She ignored Cynthia's expression. "Whether you believe that or not is unimportant. I know what you do believe. You believe I somehow cheated you out of something when I didn't. You said I kept our father from you, but I already told you I didn't have him any more than you did. In fact, I think you might have even had him more. It isn't my fault that I'm the one who got to grow up with the supposed privileges."

"You say supposed like it's so hard being a poor little rich girl," Cynthia snorted.

"It can be harder than you might think. There's more than one kind of unhappiness." Rose reached into her pocket. "But it doesn't matter. Your experiences are quite different from mine, and there's really nothing either of us can do about it. So I'm giving you this." She pulled the diamond out of her pocket and held it up.

Cynthia gasped loudly. She had never seen anything like it before. "This is a trick!"

"It isn't. I don't need it. To be honest, I never wanted it in the first place. Saying I don't care for the person who gave it to me would be an understatement. And as wonderful as the memory it is connected with might be I don't need it to remind me. You said it wasn't fair that I got to have everything, so here you go. Here's something." Rose dropped it into Cynthia's hands and was gone before she could say anything.

Cynthia didn't come out of her room for the rest of the day. Nothing existed but that diamond. After she'd looked at it so long her eyes burned, she turned her mind to the future. There was a lot she could do with the money she could get for it. She could finally have everything she'd always deserved.

The sound of a door closing snapped her out of her planning. Stella. She'd forgotten about her. It wasn't that she didn't care about her daughter, because she did. Everything she'd done over the last two days had been for her, in some part at least. But now, holding what was surely the key to the life she'd always craved, she was faced with something she hadn't expected.

….

Rose sat on their bed, her head resting on her palms. It had been a draining day, and the pounding headache that had accompanied it wasn't helping. She didn't notice Jack sit down beside her.

"Mmmm," she said when she felt his fingertips gently begin to massage the base of her skull. "That helps."

"Hope so."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"No. Do you?"

"No. I want to just..." She couldn't find the word, but he understood anyway.

"Exactly. Let's do that," he said with a smile. "Whatever that is."

Cynthia was gone when Jack got up the next morning. He passed her empty room, not surprised to see it that way. Stella's was empty too. He hadn't expected to—he didn't think it had been long enough—but he missed her. When he got downstairs, he realized he needn't have bothered.

Stella was sitting in the kitchen. There was a book on the table in front of her, but it was closed. A folded up piece of paper was on top of it. She appeared calm—at least she did to Jack, who was becomingly decidedly un-calm.

"I thought your mother left," he said.

"She did." She half-smiled. "She just didn't take me with her." She picked up the paper. "It should all be in here." Jack stepped across the room and took the paper. As he began to read she said, "I got one too. I didn't read yours though."

Cynthia's note wasn't a long one. She apologized for trying to seduce Jack, thanked Rose for giving her the diamond, and went on to explain that she had realized Stella's place was with them. It didn't matter how much she loved her daughter because she could never understand her. But she thought they could.

Jack read the note three times, and after the third time he still wasn't sure if it said what he thought it did. "She—she just left you with us?" he said finally. "That doesn't make any sense." He started to read it again.

"It kind of does," Stella said.

He stopped reading. "You think so?"

"Yes. I mean, my mother loves me and all, but there's this, I guess you could call it a gulf between us. Different things make us happy, and from what she said in my note, I think she decided I would be happier with you. She said you were like me, and I seemed more like your child than I ever had hers."

He silently took in what she'd said. "You're not really nine, are you?"

"No. I'm actually forty. I'm just extremely underdeveloped," she said dryly.

Jack laughed. "From the way you talk I could believe it. You really are advanced for your age."

She looked pleased. "Am I?"

"Oh yeah." He laid the paper on the table. Unsure of what else to do, he began preparing breakfast. No matter what they still had to eat.

"Jack?'

"Uh-huh."

"Are you and Rose going to keep me?" she asked.

He was startled by the question and by how childlike she sounded. But of course, that's what she was, advanced or not, and right then she was a child whose mother had just left her without any warning. When he opened his mouth to answer he intended to say, "I don't know", but what he actually said was, "Yes." What else could he say?

"I'm glad," she said, digging into the food he handed her.

 _So am I_ , he added silently. He just hoped Rose would be too.

As they finished eating Jack heard Rose coming down the stairs. "Hey, could you go outside and…see if it's any colder today than it was yesterday?" he asked Stella, hearing how bogus the request sounded even as he said it.

"You're trying to get rid of me, aren't you?" she asked, though she didn't look offended, merely curious.

There wasn't enough time to bother lying. "Yeah, actually, I am. Think you could go along with it?" he asked, tilting his head.

She shrugged. "At least you were honest," she said, walking out of the kitchen and heading in the direction opposite the footsteps.

A few seconds later Rose appeared in the doorway. "I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone," she said. "I must be going crazy." She crossed the room and gave him a quick kiss. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"We need to talk about something," he said. "You did hear me talking to someone just now."

Rose wrinkled her forehead. "Who? I thought Cynthia was already gone."

"Yeah, she is. But she left alone." He watched Rose's expression change as the meaning of his statement sank in.

"You mean she—she left—with us?" Rose stuttered.

He nodded. "She left Stella with us." He handed her the note. "It's all in here."

Rose dropped into the nearest chair and quickly read the note. "What would make her decide this was the right thing to do?" she asked once she was finished. "I read it, but I still don't understand."

"I don't either," he admitted, pulling a chair up beside her. "But it's what she did."

"Can we really keep her?" She looked down at the letter and then at Jack. "I know she left her with us, but would that really be the right thing to do?"

"What else can we do? Who knows where Cynthia is by now? And I'll bet there isn't anyone else who could take her. We might be closest thing to family she has."

Rose sighed heavily. "A tiny part of me wished this would happen."

"Me too."

"But now that it has, do you think we're ready for this? Just going from never having a child of our own to raising someone else's?"

"I believe we can do it. I really do," he said. "And who knows if this wasn't how it was supposed to be all along, you know? You said yourself how much Cynthia reminded you of your mother. Well, maybe this is your chance to save another little girl from growing up like that."

Rose pondered his words. "I just hope this doesn't come back on us somehow," she said finally.

Jack was saved from responding by the sound of footsteps—one set running, the other walking at normal speed. "What is that?" he asked, standing up. Rose stood up too. As they moved toward the door they heard a voice command, "Don't run like that—especially indoors!" Stella reached the kitchen a moment later. She leaned against the doorframe, slightly out of breath.

"Is my mother here?" Rose asked, dazed.

Suddenly Jack remembered all about his phone call to Ruth the previous day.

Twenty minutes later the three of them were sitting in the front room. Stella had escaped to the relative peace of the library. As Jack and Rose stared awkwardly at Ruth, they envied her. Jack was hoping fervently that Ruth wouldn't reveal the real reason for her sudden arrival. He didn't think it would anger Rose, but it wouldn't hurt to avoid talking about it, just in case. Rose was torn between seeing the situation as an improvement in her mother's relationship with them and hoping it wasn't a sign of future unannounced visits. Unable to take the silence any longer, Rose took the plunge. "I don't want this to sound rude, but why are you here?"

Jack needn't have worried. Ruth had no intention of telling the truth. "I just had this sudden desire to see the two of you, that's all. But the real question here is: whose child is that?" she added before Rose could question her explanation.

Jack and Rose exchanged looks. "She's-she's Cynthia's," Rose said.

"Then where is Cynthia?"

"That is an excellent question," Jack said. "And one we do not have an answer for."

Ruth stared at them in disbelief. "She just left this girl with you? What are you going to do about it?"

"We're going to keep her," Rose said.

"Keep her?" Ruth exclaimed.

"Mother!" Rose whispered harshly. "Keep your voice down. She'll hear you."

"Do you understand what you just said?" Ruth lowered her voice. "Do either of you really understand?"

"We understand she doesn't have anyone else," Jack said. "How do we not keep her?"

"And what happens when you finally start having children of your own? How are you going to explain it to them?"

Jack felt Rose's body tense and reached over and took her hand. She responded by gripping it tightly. "We don't have to worry about that," Rose said, keeping her voice calm. "Because it's never going to happen."

"Just because it hasn't yet doesn't mean it won't," Ruth began.

"It won't," Rose cut her off. Her tone left no room for argument.

"How can you be so sure?" Ruth asked, stunned.

Jack glanced at Rose, who was staring at their clasped hands. "We just are," he said quietly.

Looking at them, Ruth knew better than to keep pressing the issue. "Well, what are you going to tell people when they ask where she came from? You're not old enough to be her parents."

"We will deal with that when it comes," Rose said, lifting her head. "As for what people might say, I don't care, and I doubt Jack does either." She looked over at him. He nodded in confirmation.

"You two don't know how to even begin taking care of a child," Ruth said, trying the last argument she could think of.

"Does anyone?" Jack said. "I mean, before they actually do it?"

"I suppose you have a point," Ruth conceded.

Rose smiled over at him. "I didn't know we had a clue what we were doing at all."

He squeezed her hand. "We have kinda made it up as we went."

Ruth just shook her head, baffled by their unwavering belief in their ability to figure out a way to overcome anything.

"How long are you staying?" Rose asked.

"Oh, not long," Ruth assured her. "I had this strange feeling that you two might need me for some reason, but I can see you're handling things just fine." She shot a quick look at Jack.

"Looks like," he said.

Later that afternoon Jack and Rose found themselves alone. Ruth was upstairs napping-it was impossible to sleep on a train, she'd said-and Rose had discovered Stella asleep among a pile of books in the library. After he carried her upstairs, Jack joined Rose outside on the front steps. She leaned forward, hugging her knees.

"You okay?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"I was just thinking." She looked off into the distance. "She isn't right, is she?"

"I don't think she is. Do you?"

Rose shook her head. "I just can't help wondering, you know?"

He brushed back the curls that had fallen over her face. "It's okay to be unsure. I feel that way all the time."

"You do?" She looked at him, surprise in her eyes.

"Well, yeah." He grinned. "Did you think I didn't?"

"Kind of," she admitted, avoiding his eyes. "You always seem so confident." She leaned her head on his arm. "I don't know how you do it, but I always feel like nothing can go wrong when you're around."

"I am confident. I'm confident that I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy. I'm confident that I love you more than anything. But that doesn't mean I don't worry I might be making the wrong choice sometimes. It's just worked out so far," he added, chuckling.

She took his hand and stood up. "Come on," she said, tugging him to his feet.

He eyed the darkening sky. "Might not be a good idea," he said. He followed her anyway.

They made it a half mile before the rain started. The temperature had been dropping gradually all week, but that morning had started off unseasonably warm, which seemed to end the moment the first raindrops began to fall. By the time they made it back to the house they were both soaked. Hands clasped, they ran inside, stifling giggles as they went. They hurried up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.

As Jack opened their bedroom door, Rose suddenly noticed the way the rain had transformed his white shirt into an almost clear one. "Hey, sweet Rose, you're shivering," he said, unbuttoning his shirt. "You need to get out of that wet dress, don't you think?"

"What?" She stopped staring at his chest long enough to answer. "Oh." She reached around herself and fumbled for the buttons to her dress. "Could you help me?"

"Sure." He stepped behind her and quickly undid the small buttons. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves and shrugged. The dress slid from her body.

It was Jack's turn to stare.

Feeling his eyes on her, Rose looked at him over her shoulder. "Yes?" The few seconds she'd spent not looking at him had allowed her to regain her composure.

"Come here."


	17. Chapter 17

"We have to get up."

Rose shook her head before realizing he couldn't see her. Their bodies were curled together, his head resting on her chest, cradled in her arms. "Do we have to?" she asked.

"I think we do. One of them's gonna wonder where we are."

"I can just imagine my mother stumbling in on us like this," Rose said, a trace of humor in her voice.

"I'd rather not."

She bent down and kissed his hair. "Then we'll get up, because we must."

He raised his head and caught her lips. "We can always come back later."

"Promise?"

A few minutes later they were dressed and heading downstairs, where they found, to their surprise, no-one. It seemed Stella and Ruth had yet to wake up. "Guess we didn't have to get up after all," Jack said.

"If I weren't so hungry I'd be annoyed," Rose said, letting a smile escape.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.. "I'd be shocked if you weren't hungry," he said into her hair.

"Jack!" she scolded through clenched teeth. Even though the only two people within at least a mile radius were a floor above them she still worried they might hear something, though when they were completely alone she still had fears someone would hear them.

"I'm sorry." He kissed her curls. "I'll be good."

They were just about to start eating dinner when first Ruth and then Stella wandered into the kitchen. Both looking somewhat bleary-eyed, they each took seats at the table and were silent as Jack handed them plates of food. For a few minutes the four of them ate in silence. Ruth noticed that Jack and Rose had changed their clothes since she'd last seen them, but she chose to believe they were heading in the right direction and had started dressing for dinner. Though she didn't understand why they chose to eat in the kitchen when they had a perfectly good dining room. During her last visit she had been shocked to see it was empty, almost as if they didn't realize it was there. In fact, she'd been shocked to see most of the house had been left empty. There were rooms she wondered if they had ever even bothered to go in at all, but she held her tongue. There was always a chance they would come to their senses, or Jack would discover he had some.

"Did you sleep well?" Rose asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes, thank you," Ruth said.

"I don't remember going to sleep," Stella said. She sounded annoyed with herself. "I don't even remember going upstairs."

"I took you upstairs," Jack explained. "You fell asleep on a pile of books."

"Oh. That makes more sense," she said.

As silence threatened to descend upon them once more, Rose asked, "How long did you say you were staying?"

"I'll probably leave tomorrow," Ruth answered. She knew how strange her behavior seemed, but she didn't see the point of staying any longer. And, being honest with herself, she didn't relish the idea of watching Jack and Rose navigate their way through something she was sure would, despite their best efforts, fail. Rose nodded, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. She loved her mother and appreciated how much effort she was making, but that didn't make her any less eager to limit their time together. "So, what were you thinking of doing about school?" Ruth asked.

"What?" Jack and Rose answered in unison. Stella watched the scene unfolding in front of her, curious as to where Ruth was going.

"For Stella. She has to go to school, you know."

Jack and Rose exchanged glances. If Stella hadn't been in the room right then they would have pointed out to Ruth that they'd only just adopted her-however unofficial it was-that morning, and therefore, had not had time to remember details like that. As it was, Jack avoided the issue by saying, "It's already November, so schools are going to be getting out for the holidays anyway. We thought we'd wait until spring to deal with it."

Stella looked visibly relieved. Seeing her expression, Rose asked, "Do you even want to go to school?"

"No," she answered.

"You can't let a child decide something like that," Ruth said, shocked. One by one they were destroying her dreams of one day seeing them settle into "normalcy."

"She is the one who has to go," Jack pointed out. "But I'm not sure what she'll do if she doesn't."

"You could teach me," Stella suggested eagerly. She looked at Rose. "I know you could."

"I-I suppose I could," Rose said slowly. It was a novel idea, but would it actually work?

Ruth couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Are you seriously thinking of teaching her yourself?"

"I think I am," Rose said, suddenly attached to the idea. "But just until spring," she added quickly.

Stella chose not to hear the last part. "You mean it?"

Rose looked over at Jack, who smiled and shrugged. "If that's what you want to do," he said. She looked back at Stella. "Yes."

After dinner-and after Stella had been sent outside to breathe real air-Ruth cornered them. "Do you realize what you're getting yourselves into?" she asked.

"I think we went over this already," Jack said.

"Perhaps we did, but you've just added another level of insanity I feel the need to address."

"And that is?" Rose asked. .

"Do you really think you're capable of educating that child? And even if you are, how can you be sure you'll still want to after some time has passed?"

"I do think I'm—we're-quite capable. And as for still wanting to, it won't be forever," Rose said.

"That's what you say now," Ruth said with a sigh. She wished, just once, they would listen to her, conveniently forgetting all the things she had been wrong about where they were concerned.

…..

Ruth left early the next morning, still convinced they were making a huge mistake. To her credit, she didn't mention it again. Only Rose and Stella were up to see her go. Jack was still in bed, which given how early he usually got up, was causing Rose more than a little concern. Once her mother was finally gone, she went back upstairs to check on him. When she left he was sound asleep, and she'd told herself there wasn't anything wrong with that. As a habitual late sleeper herself it was his habit of rising with the sun that she could never understand. Before she even got their bedroom door open, she could hear him coughing.

Stepping inside she saw him, his legs swung over the side of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his head bent down, hands over his face in what looked more like an attempt to muffle the sound than to stop the possible spread of germs. "Jack, are you okay?' she asked anxiously, rushing over to him. She dropped down next to him on the bed and laid her hands on his back.

He raised his head and lowered his hands. "I'm okay," he said, trying to sound better than he was. "I think I woke up with a cold is all." He managed a small smile. "That'll teach me to play in the rain."

Rose wasn't convinced. "How do you feel? Is it just the coughing?"

"Yeah," he lied. "It's nothing, sweet Rose." He hauled himself to his feet. "I'm fine."

He maintained he was fine for the rest of the day, and though he moved with a heaviness he didn't normally have, Rose was forced to admit he might just have a cold after all. That didn't stop her from refusing to let him out of her sight. She was determined to see any new symptoms the moment the appeared. If she saw them, he couldn't hide them. None appeared. However, what she didn't know, and what he was determined she not know, was the coughing was slowly getting worse.

He had all the symptoms of a severe cold, though he was doing his best to hide them. He knew going about his day like normal was probably just making the illness worse, but he had never been the type to admit when he was sick. Not wanting Rose to worry gave him the perfect reason to go on like nothing was wrong. The next day he woke up and discovered it hurt to swallow. He felt his throat and thought he could feel a swelling. He groaned and tried to sit up, but his head started spinning the second he lifted it off the pillow. He fell back, defeated.

"Jack?" Rose sat up, awakened by his movement. He was paler than usual and his eyes were dull. "You can't say you feel fine," she said. "I can tell just by looking at you that you don't."

"No sense arguing, huh?" he whispered, afraid of worsening his throat.

"No." Rose climbed out of bed and came around to his side. She bent down and laid her wrist against his forehead. "You're not hot, but you don't feel quite normal. I think you should stay in bed."

"You might be onto something with that."

She pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucking it around him. He smiled up at her. "Okay. I'm going to go get you some juice and aspirin," she said, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face.

He closed his eyes. "I'll be here."

"You'd better be," she warned.

In the kitchen she found orange juice but no aspirin. She poured some juice into a glass and hurried back upstairs. "Here," she said, lowering herself gently onto the bed next to him. He managed to pull himself into enough of a sitting position that he could drink without choking to death. "Thanks," he said, his eyes brightening briefly.

"I couldn't find any aspirin," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I think there's some in the bathroom. I should have said something before."

She checked, and sure enough there it was in the cabinet behind the mirror. Carrying the bottle she resumed her former place beside him. "Hold out your hand." She poured two pills into his palm. He popped them into his mouth and swallowed them with the last of the juice. He handed her the glass and lay back. She pulled the blanket back up to his chin. "Try to rest," she commanded, kissing his forehead. "I'll come back later to see how you are, okay?" He nodded, already drifting off.

Back downstairs again, she collapsed onto the couch in the library. She'd known he wasn't okay the day before, but he was too stubborn to admit it. She just hoped he didn't get any worse.

"Hey Rose," Stella said, coming into the library.

Rose smiled. "Good morning Stella."

"Is Jack okay? He's usually up by now."

"He'll be fine," Rose assured her. "He's just not feeling well today. Are you hungry?" Stella nodded. "So am I. Come on. I'll try to make us breakfast."

Stella eyed the pot of oatmeal suspiciously. She didn't want to say what she was thinking, but she didn't really want to eat it either. "You're right," Rose said, seeing her expression. "This is not my area of expertise."

"It's probably not so bad," Stella said, trying to sound encouraging.

"Well, let's not tell Jack. He'll try and pretend he's better so we won't starve to death."

"I doubt it'll come to actual starving," Stella said. "How long can he stay sick anyway?"

"You're right. And in the meantime we'll get by just fine." Rose looked at the oatmeal. "Maybe if we added cinnamon?"

After breakfast, not that either of them wanted to call it that, Rose sent Stella to the library and headed back upstairs to get dressed and check on Jack. She was relieved to find him asleep. She brushed her hand against his forehead. He felt normal. She grabbed some pants and a shirt and stepped into them and ran a brush through her tangled curls.

"I'm not exactly sure how to go about teaching you, but I'm willing to try." she began, once she was back in the library. "And I think the first thing we should do is figure out what you need to be studying."

"Well, I'm supposed to be in the fourth grade," Stella offered helpfully.

"I'm not even sure I remember what I did in the fourth grade," Rose said. "Mostly I remember being somewhat bored by it all."

"School bores me too."

Rose had an idea. "What do you want to learn?"

Stella wasn't sure how to answer. No-one had ever asked her that before. "Can it be anything?"

"Pretty much, I suppose."

And so they began.

Over the next few days Rose slowly began to construct a curriculum for Stella. After breakfast they would study history, literature, and philosophy. After lunch they would take a walk together and discuss political and economic theories. As the days passed Rose's original belief in Stella's potential was confirmed; she was just as intelligent as she'd seemed all along. All she needed was someone to help her focus her thoughts, connect the dots between all the things she'd already read about.

Jack began to improve, and after a few days in bed he felt good enough to get up and—"Slowly," Rose had commanded—go about his usual routine. For the most part he did feel better, though the coughing hadn't stopped. He tried to hold it in when Rose was around. She would just worry, and he was sure it was nothing. Sometimes it took a bit longer to get over some symptoms than others, that was all. They didn't say it, but Stella and Rose were both relieved when he was feeling well enough to take over the cooking again. Not only did it mean he was finally better, it also meant they didn't have to endure Rose's culinary attempts anymore, though she had managed to make a decent pot of soup for Jack.

One afternoon about a week after he'd declared himself recovered, he found himself tiptoeing up to the library door. He wanted to see what they did without startling them out of their usual routine. He saw Rose and Stella sitting cross-legged on the floor. Rose held a book in her hands and was reading from it while Stella took notes. They were so absorbed in what they were doing he doubted they would have noticed if he'd walked in and sat down with them. They looked so happy together. _See, things are working out just fine_ , he thought as he headed up to the attic, ignoring the way breathing and walking up the stairs at the same time had suddenly become difficult.

Over the next few weeks he continued to try to ignore the way his coughing fits steadily worsened. The coughing was the kind that can only be described as wet. His body would shake and he would feel as if his lungs were being ripped apart. Breathing was slowly becoming painful, and one day he discovered if he breathed deeply his breaths would come out sounding as wet as his coughs. Eventually he started getting chest pains. He tried to go on as though nothing was wrong, but after the third week, Rose put a stop to it.

She confronted him when he tried to get out of bed. He had no sooner sat up then she pushed him back down. "What're you doing?" he asked, confused by the sudden attack.

She stood over him, arms crossed. "Taking care of you," she said. "If you won't admit there's something wrong, I'll admit it for you."

There was no use arguing. He felt like he was dying. He had been hoping it would just clear up on its own— _Sometimes that happens,_ he'd told himself though he honestly couldn't think of a single time it had—but obviously that wasn't in the cards for him.

"I didn't want you to worry," he said. The second the words left his mouth he was overcome by a coughing fit.

Rose sighed heavily. "Jack, listen to you!" She sat down beside him and took one of his hands in hers. "I've been worrying about you for days. I was just hoping you'd come to your senses and stop pretending you're fine when you're not." She stroked his hand. His skin was colder than it should have been. "I love you. I don't want to lose you."

"You're not gonna lose me," he said. "I didn't survive a ship sinking and barely escape freezing to death just to let a little coughing separate us."

"You're right. That's why you're not getting up. And that's why I'm calling a doctor. We're going to find out what's wrong with you and what to do about it. You may not like it, but right now you have to let me take care of you—the way you take care of me," she added.

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

Rose smiled. "That makes two of us."

The local doctor came that afternoon. Rose paced outside their door while he examined Jack. She hadn't told Stella anything. It had seemed best to avoid upsetting her. She'd sent her outside for the afternoon, saying she needed to get the fresh air before it got too cold. The sound of the door opening stopped her in her tracks. "How is he?" she asked anxiously as the doctor stepped into the hallway.

"Can I be honest with you Mrs. Dawson?"

"I don't want anything else. Please, tell me."

"Well, from the looks of it he has pneumonia. Now—"

"How did he get it?"

"What seems to be the case is a person will come down with a regular cold or maybe flu, and something happens to make it turn into this. Was he sick before this?"

Rose nodded. "Yes, he had a cold a few weeks ago, but it seemed to go away, until he started getting worse, that is."

"That's how it usually goes, though his case may have advanced faster than usual. I'm not sure why. Sometimes these things just happen. He hasn't had any severe illnesses before has he?"

"Not—not while I've known him," Rose said. She didn't think she'd ever seen him sick before this. Except—"He did have hypothermia once."

"It's possible if it was bad enough it could have weakened his body's ability to fight these things off."

"Will he die?" Rose didn't know if she wanted to hear the answer.

"I honestly don't know. Some people die, some people don't. There isn't a lot we've discovered we can do for this. The best thing he can do is stay in bed and avoid straining his lungs. He's going to do a lot of coughing, but that's good. It's the only way he can get what's in his lungs out. And if he gets it out he'll be able to breathe better. He's susceptible to fevers, so try and keep his temperature down as best you can. If his ability to breathe worsens you might see a blueness around his mouth—that's from lack of oxygen. Of course, there are other symptoms, but he doesn't seem to have them right now so don't worry about those just yet."

"Isn't there anything you can give him?"

"You could try having him chew on charcoal tablets, sometimes that helps. They shouldn't be that hard to find, but I'll write you something for them anyway."

"Okay." Rose sounded dazed. "You can't tell me how long it'll take for him to get over this, can you?"

"I'm afraid not. In a way, it's really up to him. It depends on how well he fights it."

"Can I get it?" she asked, though the answer wouldn't keep her away from Jack, not for a second.

"You can, but unless you're sick yourself it seems unlikely. However, if you have children it wouldn't hurt to keep them away from him."

"I understand. Thank you," she said. She sounded as if she was a million miles away, and in a way, she was. She had heard everything he'd said, but there was a part of her that couldn't accept it. Jack could not die. They had been through too much for him to die just as things were finally working out for them.

"I'll let myself out," he said. Rose nodded. He doubted she'd even heard him.

Stella sat in one of the trees in front of the house and watched him come outside. As he passed under the tree she called down to him, "Will he die?"

The doctor looked up, startled to hear a voice coming from above. "Who? Your father?"

She didn't bother to correct him. Secretly she liked to think that maybe Jack was her father. Then Rose would be her mother. It wasn't that she didn't love her actual mother; she did, it was just that she felt so much closer to them though she couldn't have explained exactly why. "Yes," she said.

There was something about this little girl that made him want to tell her the truth. She had an air about her that belonged to a much older person. But he lied anyway. "He'll be fine. He just needs rest is all."

Stella accepted his answer without argument, but she didn't believe it. As she watched him leave, she was overwhelmed by fear. It was entirely possible that Jack really would be fine, but what if he wasn't?

Rose was thinking the same thing. She leaned her head against the wall and willed herself to be calm. She couldn't go in there unless she calmed down. No matter how sick he was, Jack would be able to tell something was wrong, and worrying about her would just drain any energy he did have. He needed all his strength to get better. She couldn't let herself be a distraction.

She was so focused on convincing herself there wasn't a possibility of him dying, she didn't notice the tears begin rolling down her cheeks. They came slowly at first, but then faster and faster. Before she knew it, she had sunk to her knees and was sobbing heavily. "He can't die," she whispered to herself, rocking back and forth. "He can't."


	18. Chapter 18

"Find out anything?" Jack asked hoarsely.

"Just that you need to rest," Rose said briskly. She smoothed his hair. "You need to get as much rest as possible."

"That doesn't sound too hard." He smiled weakly. He knew there was something she wasn't telling him. He could hear it in her voice.

"Doesn't, does it?" She tried to return his smile, but only managed a half. She wanted so badly to be strong for him. She couldn't let him see how scared she was. It would only take his mind off getting better. She brushed her palm across his forehead and down his cheek, suppressing a gasp at how hot his skin felt. "I'm going to get you something," she said. "You feel a bit warm."

He could tell just from the way he felt that he had to be more than a bit warm, but he didn't argue with her. She was trying to protect him from something, that much was obvious. As the sound of her footsteps faded he wondered just how bad things looked for him.

It didn't take her long to return. She had aspirin in one hand and a glass of juice in the other. "Here, take these," she said. He lifted his head as she handed him the pills and the glass. "Thanks." He swallowed the pills with a gulp of juice and collapsed onto the pillow. She pressed his hand and turned to go. She didn't want to leave, but there wasn't anything more she could do for him, not right then at least. _He looks exhausted. He'll sleep better without me standing over him_ , she thought. _And he really does need to rest._ He grabbed her hand as she started to walk away. She whipped her head around. "What is it?' she asked anxiously.

"Will you stay with me?" He looked up at her pleadingly.

"Jack, you need to sleep."

"I know, and I'm going to. It's just—" A coughing fit cut him off mid-sentence. Rose winced as she watched his body shake. She wanted to pull him into her arms and hold him as tightly as she could, to somehow cure him with her love. "I'll sleep better with you here," he finished when he could speak again.

She sat down beside him. "I'll stay." She settled for holding his hand tightly. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

…

"How bad is it?' Jack asked. He was sitting up in bed, a hot cup of tea in his hands. Rose was fluttering around the room, dusting and re-dusting items that were already clean. It had been three weeks since his first visit from the doctor, and he was about to have another, though Rose had yet to tell him what exactly was wrong with him. She'd avoided the subject whenever he brought it up, always finding something else to talk about instead. As much as she hated the thought of sleeping away from him, she had tried to move into another room temporarily, but he wouldn't hear of it.

"Why would you leave?" he'd asked when she'd suggested it.

"You need your rest," she'd said, smoothing his hair and trying to sound gently authoritative.

"I know, but you being down the hall isn't going to help me do that."

"Jack, I'm just trying to do what's best."

"You being close to me is what's best."

Eventually they'd settled on a compromise: Rose would sleep in the floor next to the bed. Jack hadn't been happy about it, but he didn't have the strength to do any more arguing. He understood what Rose was trying to do, and he loved her all the more for it.

And now here they were.

"Rose?" he said. She kept her back to him but she stopped moving. If she could have put off having this conversation for the rest of their lives she would have.

"Yes?"

"Rose, please answer me. I've asked you—I don't even know how many times, and you change the subject every time. How bad is it?"

Rose sighed. She turned to face him. "I don't know."

"What do you mean? What did the doctor say when he was here before?"

"He said you had pneumonia, that it was an advanced case and there was a chance your body's ability to fight it off had been compromised because you had hypothermia," she said quickly and with as little emotion as possible. She was doing her best to avoid becoming upset. "He also said there was a chance you might die." She turned around and went back to her organizing.

Jack let her words settle in his mind. It all made sense now. He'd suspected things looked bad for him, but he hadn't let his suspicions go that far. _I could die_ , he thought as yet another coughing fit overtook him. Rose hurried to his side and took the cup of tea from his hands. "Let me hold that," she said.

"Thanks," he said when he could speak again. He smiled as he took the cup back. He sipped from it slowly. Rose tried to return the smile but she could only manage a slight twitching at the corners of her lips. She moved to walk away. "Rose." She stopped.

"Yes?"

"Do you think I'm going to die?"

 _How can you ask me that?_ "What?" Her voice shook in spite of her best efforts to keep it steady.

"I'm not trying to upset you. I would never do that. I just want to know...do you think I'll come out of this?"

Rose looked at the floor. "I-I want you to, but I'm afraid..." Her throat tightened. She closed her eyes.

"Rose, come here," he ordered gently. She stepped closer to him. "No, sit down." He reached up and guided her onto the bed with his hand. "Open your eyes and look at me." She was shocked by the determination she saw burning in his blue eyes. "I am not going to die, not now, not like this. I don't care what you were told. It isn't going to happen."

"Let me check your temperature," Rose said, swallowing tears.

Stella was passing by their room just was as Rose was announcing Jack's temperature. "100," she heard her say, relief in her voice. "It's gone down a bit." Stella stopped. She pressed her face against the crack between their door and the wall. Jack was sitting in bed sipping tea. Rose sat next to him, thermometer in hand.

"See, I'm improving," Jack said grinning.

Rose smiled weakly. She didn't consider a drop from a temperature of 102 to 100 to be much of an improvement. "At two you can have another dose of aspirin. Maybe that will help bring it down some more. The doctor should be here not long after that." She stood up slowly.

"Leaving already?" he joked. He didn't expect her to laugh or even smile. Even through his fevery haze he could see how hard the past few weeks had been on her. As much as she tried to hide her fear it showed through. Her eyes were heavy and rimmed with black circles. Though she was clean, and her hair was combed she'd been wearing the same shirt and pair of Jack's pants she'd put on the morning after his illness had been discovered. But that didn't stop him from trying.

"I'll be back soon," Rose said, guilt in her voice. He had to know she didn't want to leave him. "I have to go see about Stella. She's been alone too much lately."

 _No!_ Stella cried silently. _Stay with him. I'm fine the way I am. He needs you more than I do_

She'd only been with them for a month or so, but she was already more attached to both of them than her stoic nature cared to admit. No-one had ever cared about what went on in her mind the way Rose did. Rose talked to her as though she were an adult. She asked her questions and encouraged her to think about things. Stella loved her mother, though she didn't fool herself into hoping she would see her again, but she loved Rose almost as much. And Jack, she didn't know how to describe her feelings for Jack. She couldn't remember her own father, didn't know where he was or what had happened to him. It had never mattered before. She was smart enough to know her mother wouldn't have told her even if she'd asked. During her short life she'd watched her mother take up with one man after another, always searching for The One. The One who would finally Take Care of Them. When her mother said that phrase-as she did often-Stella heard the words with capital letters. None of them were The One though. She suspected it had something to do with her.

The sound of a creaking floorboard snapped her back to reality. Rose had moved closer to the door. The guilty look in her eyes was gone. She was trying her best to smile. Annoyed with herself for getting lost in her own head- _Like I always do_ -Stella realized she'd missed a portion of the conversation.

"I love you," she heard Rose say, kissing her fingertips and laying her hand flat, palm up, pointing it in his direction.

Jack grinned and pretended to catch something. "I love you too," he said.

Stella ran down the hall and down the stairs, hoping Rose couldn't her hear footsteps echoing in the silent house. She dove onto the couch in the library and grabbed the nearest book. When Rose came into the library she looked as though she'd been sitting there for hours.

"Hi," she said, looking up from a page she hadn't been reading. She had a pretty good idea of how Jack was already, but she asked anyway.

"Oh, he's doing better," Rose said, sitting down beside her. Stella wished she were older so Rose wouldn't feel the need to lie to her. It didn't matter how intelligent she was. She was still only a child, and Rose never forgot that. "What are you reading?" Rose asked, leaning forward to see the cover of her book. " _The Communist Manifesto_ , again?"

"Well, it's fascinating." _Probably should have checked the title before grabbing. Now she'll know I haven't been here all along._

But Rose either believed her or was too distracted by the situation with Jack-or perhaps both-to question her explanation. "You're right," she said. She was about to say something else when the sound of the phone ringing caught her attention. "I'll be right back," she called, dashing off to the kitchen.

Rose grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"Rose?" She recognized her mother's voice immediately.

"Yes, mother."

"You don't sound like yourself. What's wrong?" Ruth demanded.

Rose tried to brighten her tone. "Nothing. Everything's fine."

"What has he done?"

Rose couldn't help but smile. In spite of all her mother's progress she was still ready to blame Jack for something the first chance she got. "Jack hasn't done anything. Why are you calling?"

"I just wanted to ask how you are-all of you." There was an apologetic note in her voice.

"We're-" _Fine. Say fine_. "-fine," she said unconvincingly.

"Rose."

"We are."

"You don't sound fine. Now, if he didn't do something, what's wrong?"

It was the first time her mother had ever asked her what was wrong. She couldn't take it. "J-Jack's not okay," she said, her voice trembling.

Her mother was all business. "Explain."

Rose quickly explained about his illness and what the doctor had said. Ruth sighed heavily when she had finished. "You didn't get a second opinion?"

"No," Rose said, feeling ashamed of herself.

"Well, even if your information is accurate, there must be something more that can be done for him. I'll call you back." And with that Ruth hung up. Rose stared at the phone in her hand. Had her mother really said what she thought she'd said?

Ruth was staring at the phone she had just hung up. She had never expected to promise-though not in so many words-to find a way to help Jack. Of course, she had never expected to care whether or not Jack lived or died. Her-affection wasn't the right word-whatever it was for him had spoken for her. She had heard the thinly veiled desperation in Rose's voice, and something in her had responded to it. The realist in her said Rose would get over it if Jack died. Husbands died all the time, but still there was a part of her that didn't agree. It was the part of her that looked over at Thomas sometimes and wondered, "What if..?" And it was that part that said she was going to find a way to help him-whether she liked it or not.

Ruth was still staring at the phone when Thomas wandered into the room a few minutes later. "Something wrong?"

"Yes," she said. "Possibly." She sounded distant.

She didn't look or sound like herself. "Dear, what is it? Did someone call? Was it Rose?"

"I called her," she said, snapping out of her daze.

"Is she alright?"

"She's fine. Jack isn't. He's ill, from what I understand."

"Is it serious?"

"She seems to think it is."

"'Seems to think'-did she say it was?"

"Yes, but she's always been a bit irrational where he's concerned." Ruth knew she sounded callous, but she wasn't eager for him to know she was actually concerned about Jack.

"Why do I think she hasn't been as irrational as you might have me believe?" Thomas asked, giving her a pointed look.

Ruth chose to ignore him. "Well, I told her I'd see what I could do to help. He's got her all alone, practically cut off from civilization. It's no wonder she's getting a bit hysterical."

Thomas could hear the concern under the criticism. "What are you planning to do?"

"I was just trying to decide that when you came in, actually."

"Well, it doesn't seem like there's much you can do from here."

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing. Just a thought."

Ruth sighed. He was right. Even if there had been something she could do-despite being several states away-it wouldn't have been enough to satisfy her. She was more than a doer. She was the kind of doer who has to oversee everything to make sure it goes exactly the way it's supposed to.

And then it came to her. How she could help.

….

When the doctor came that afternoon Jack insisted Rose stay in the room with him. Her revelation had shaken him to his core, though he would never have admitted it, and he didn't want her getting any more bad news alone. But he'd meant what he'd said. Despite how high the odds might be stacked against him, he was determined to live.

Rose watched from across the room while the doctor examined Jack, checking his temperature and listening to him breathe. "Well, you've got a fever, but it isn't as bad as it could be. Only 100."

Why didn't it go down? Rose searched her brain, trying to think of something else she could have done to help his fever break.

"How am I?" Jack asked, once the doctor was finished with him. The doctor's eyes shifted from Jack to Rose and back to Jack again. "I know what you told her before. Tell _me_ ," Jack insisted. There was a part of him that couldn't help but be angry Rose had been given that kind of news in the first place. He should have been the one told. Not because she couldn't handle it-he knew she could-but because she shouldn't have had to. At least, not in his mind.

"You're doing a bit better," the doctor said. Rose breathed a sigh of relief. "But you're by no means over the worst of it yet, judging from the sound of your lungs." He shook his head. "I can't understand why a man your age and in your shape is having so much trouble fighting this off, but you're going to have to find a way to do so if you want to make it through."

The water had done it. Jack had always thought of himself as a strong person, physically and otherwise. He'd worked with his hands, braved the elements-it hadn't even been his first experience with icy water-but that first experience had been nothing compared to the night of the sinking. His father hadn't been there to pull him out mere minutes after his body plunged into the water. And now here he was, weakened-probably forever-and it was doubtful if he would be able to save himself.

 _I don't care what it takes. I'm not giving up. I'm not dying_.

Unbeknownst to them all, Stella had crept up the stairs and was once again peeking through crack between the door and the wall, grateful none of them had thought to actually close the door. Her hands balled into fists when she heard the doctor say Jack could die. She saw Rose's face tighten and wished she could run over to her. "I feel the same way!" she wanted to say. Though, of course, she couldn't possibly feel the same way. The rational part of her knew that. There was no comparison between Rose's feelings for Jack and her own. But she wanted to say it just the same. She held her breath as she watched Jack take in the information. She watched his blue eyes change from fearful to determined. He set his jaw. She let out a sigh. She hadn't realized it, but she'd been so afraid he would just give up.

Rose saw the changes in Jack's face too. Suddenly it was as though she were hearing his words for the first time. "Rose, I'm not gonna die." No, he wasn't. Not if there was anything he could do about it he wasn't.

…..

As Ruth watched the countryside whiz by through the train window, she couldn't help but wish for the days when the mere mention of Jack's name sent her into a fury. It was all so much simpler then. Had this happened a year earlier she wouldn't have cared at all whether he lived or died—probably, she told herself, she would have been hoping he'd die. But the simplicity of hatred had been replaced—when?—by a grudging respect that occasionally bordered on something close to—but wasn't quite—affection.

Thomas sat beside her, contentedly working a newspaper crossword puzzle. She considered telling him how she felt—he would listen, she was sure of that—but she doubted he'd understand unless she told the whole sordid story. And she wasn't planning to ever do that if she could help it. On his left sat Peter Stevens—Dr. Peter Stevens. If Rose wouldn't—or couldn't, which seemed likely to Ruth given the barbaric conditions in which they lived—get a second opinion about Jack's condition, then she would. _I've gone through too much hell because of this boy for him to die now._

They arrived early the next morning, and as they walked the mile and a half that stood between the edge of town and the house, Ruth was again baffled by Rose's willingness to live so far away from everything. They couldn't even rent a car in the town. Didn't she know what she was missing? Didn't she care? As much as Ruth had managed to accept the marriage of Jack and Rose, she still couldn't understand why they lived the way they did. _It isn't as though they have to_. Jack hadn't answered her when she asked about their money, but she knew from listening to what he and others said—much to her surprise she'd discovered people she knew mentioned his name occasionally—they had more than enough to live her definition of a life.

"They don't have a bell," she said as the trio made their way up the front steps. "We'll have to knock."

Stella answered Thomas's knock. She peered up at them, blinking in the bright morning sun. She looked puzzled, but then a flash of recognition crossed her face. "You're Rose's mother," she said.

"Yes, I am," Ruth said, not unkindly. "Where is she?"

"She's upstairs with Jack. Come on," Stella said, motioning for them to follow her into the house. She led them into the library. "You can sit down," she said, sounding much older than her nine years.

"Thank you," Thomas said with a smile. He took a seat in a chair near the fireplace. Dr. Stevens sat on the couch. Stella took up her usual position on the floor. Ruth stayed standing. "She'll be down soon," Stella said. And no sooner were the words out of her mouth than they heard the sound of Rose's footsteps.

Rose was so absorbed in her thoughts that at first she didn't notice the three extra people in the room. "Stella—" she began. Suddenly she saw them. "M-mother?' she stammered, almost too shocked to get the word out. "What are you doing here?" Her eyes moved around the room, taking in Thomas and the strange man on the couch. "And who have you brought with you?"

"This is Dr. Stephens," Ruth answered briskly. Taking control and ordering people about were two of her talents. "He's here to have a look at Jack."

Rose's head was spinning. "You said you were going to call me. You never said—why would—did you actually come all this way and bring a doctor with you?" She didn't know if she felt grateful or confused.

"Yes, well, someone had to do it. So stop wasting time and take Dr. Stevens to him. He was good enough to come all this way, after all."

"Okay." Rose sounded dazed. "This way." She led him from the room, Ruth following.

Stella and Thomas looked at each other. "Is she always like that?" Stella asked.

"Pretty much, yes."

"It's…intense."

"Intense sounds like a good word for it," he said, chuckling. "What are you reading?"

Jack was just drifting off, having finally managed to stop coughing—for the moment at least—when he was startled awake by the arrival of Rose, her mother, and the doctor. "What's going on?" he asked groggily, sitting up. That isn't….is it? How high has my fever gotten?

"Lie down Jack," Rose said soothingly. She gently pushed him back.

"What's going on?" he asked again.

"There's a doctor here to see you," she explained.

"Again? Wasn't he just here yesterday?"

"It's a different one. My mother brought him."

"Your mother…." _It's worse than I thought. It has to be._

"Sshhh….just let him look you over, okay?"

"Okay."

Rose hadn't intended to leave, but her mother motioned her into the hallway. Reluctantly, she went. "Why are you here?" she whispered once the door was closed behind her.

Ruth stared at her. "What do you mean why am I here? I came to help."

"Since when do you travel hundreds of miles to help? And to help Jack?"

"I'm not the terrible person you're implying I am. It isn't as though I hate him."

"You don't like him," Rose said.

"But I don't hate him. And he's important to you."

Rose was stunned. "Are you trying to say you did this because you cared about how I feel?"

"If you must force me to say how I feel, the answer is yes. I did this because I care about you, and I know how much you care about him."

"This is the last thing I ever expected from you." Rose's tone was a mixture of shock and joy.

"Yes, well, I knew you were all alone out here," Ruth said stiffly. "And I am your mother. It is my duty to help you in situations like these."

Rose lightly touched her mother's arm. "You don't have to explain. Thank you."

"Rose, you know how physical displays of affection look."

Rose smiled. There was the mother she knew. They stood in silence until the doctor came back out. "Well?" Rose asked.

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you that you weren't misinformed. He does have pneumonia, and it is a rather severe case, judging by the sound of his lungs. I don't suppose you've been able to get his fever to break at all?" he continued.

Rose shook her head. "No. I've tried everything I can think of, but I can only get it to come down for a while. I can't get it to go away completely."

"In my opinion if his fever breaks he'll have a much better chance of making it. The fever's draining all his energy, and there's not enough left over to fight the disease. To be honest, I can't understand why a man his age and in his condition even ended up with this. It's usually brought on by an untreated cold, but based on what I've been told he wasn't exposed to anything that would have caused his original illness to mutate into this one—especially so rapidly."

"He was ill some time before this," Rose explained. "It's probably the result of that."

"Yes, he mentioned something about a prior illness. What was it?"

Rose stumbled over the word. "H—hypothermia. He had a very severe case of hypothermia." She could feel her mother's eyes on her. You know he did, she wanted to say. And you know why.

"Yes, well, that easily could have weakened his body if his case was extreme enough."

"Trust me, it was."

"I've given him something to help him sleep. He asked if he could have something for the coughing, but coughing is actually what he needs to be doing right now. There's no other way for him to get the fluid out of his lungs. It should also help with his fever."

"Thank you."

He looked at Ruth. "I'll just be downstairs then." She nodded. He walked past them and down the stairs.

Rose was staring at the wall. "Rose?" She didn't answer. Her mother tried again, a bit louder this time. "Rose?"

"Huh?"

"You can't just stand there all day."

 _Why not?_ "I suppose so."

"I know you're worried, but there's nothing you can do right now. Come downstairs and let him rest."

Rose allowed herself to be led down the stairs, but her thoughts never left Jack.


	19. Chapter 19

As grateful as Rose was for her mother's gesture, after the initial shock wore off she started wondering when exactly her mother planned to leave. At first it had been nice having her around, but now her constant presence was putting even more strain on Rose's already frazzled nerves.

Ruth had wasted no time in taking control of the house and all the people in it. Rose just didn't have it in her to protest— _Let her do what she wants. I don't care,_ she thought—and Stella knew better than to say anything. Even if she had she been the daughter she sometimes wished she was she doubted her words would have been heard. As the abandoned child of Rose's illegitimate half-sister she was certain of it. Ruth didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She had a gift for making silence speak for her. As she bustled around the house, criticizing and inspecting, Stella could hear everything she wasn't saying. _She doesn't want me to be here. She thinks I'm odd. Well, I don't care. It isn't up to her. And she doesn't like Jack._

Rose couldn't understand how things had gotten to where they were. Thomas and the doctor were staying at a hotel in town—"The fewer people about the better," he'd said. "Jack needs quiet." As much as she agreed with him, Rose was sure there was an ulterior motive to his departure, coming as it did five days into their stay and long after the doctor had already been sent off to the hotel. _He can't stand being cooped up with her either._

Once he was gone and there was no-one around to distract her, Ruth spent every spare second going over the house with the fine toothed combs that were her eyes and promptly finding fault with everything. "Rose, why you keep all these rooms empty and closed up like this?" she asked the first night. "Don't you realize what you could do with this space?"

"We're just not interested in doing anything with it right now," Rose had answered. "We weren't even planning to be here this long."

"What do you mean you weren't planning to be here this long?" Ruth couldn't believe her ears. "You don't purchase a house just to go off and leave it the very next day."

"We were going to stay for a little while. Get acquainted with the place. Spend some time just relaxing together. But we were planning to leave again."

"But why would you leave? He actually found a decent house. It's in the middle of nowhere, but it's still better than what I dared expect."

"Because we like wandering."

"Traveling I can understand, but what the two of you do is just utterly incomprehensible _." I don't know where you got this urge to go off and live like a vagabond from, but I'm blaming him. I don't care how well he's taken care of you._ "If you have this insatiable urge to see the world, why don't you do it right? Why don't you travel as befits people with your means?"

"We wander," Rose said exasperated. "We don't have a plan. We look at a map, pick the first name that jumps out at us, and off we go. It doesn't matter where it is. Every place is interesting in some way. And as for traveling as befits our means, well, we're not interested in doing that at all. Yes, it's nice the money is there in case we ever do need it—like when we wanted to buy this house—but it's also nice that we're not dependent upon it. We can live just fine without it."

"Do you really believe that?" I wish your father had spent more time with you so I could blame him for this, but he didn't so I have no idea where it came from," Ruth said.

"I know. Things weren't always like this. Jack may have become very successful very quickly—and I'm grateful for that because no-one deserves it more than he does—but before that happened we had nothing. At least not in the material sense," she added.

At that point Ruth had given up, much to Rose's relief. The silence didn't last long, however, and by the next afternoon she had found something else to be baffled and somewhat annoyed by. On the eighth day, it was Rose's appearance. "I know you're under a lot of stress, but you do realize you've been wearing those same clothes for some time now, don't you?"

Rose looked down at herself. "I hadn't noticed." Actually, she had. She just didn't care. It wasn't just that the clothes she was wearing were Jack's. Despite how crazy it sounded, even in her own head, she was afraid to change. She'd been wearing those clothes the day she'd found out about his illness—the day she found out he could die—and though she couldn't explain it, there was a part of her that was convinced if she changed it would somehow curse him. She rationalized it to herself as a side effect of stress, but she still didn't change.

"Well, you have. Don't you think you should change into something clean?" Ruth asked. Although she would never have admitted it she was secretly afraid he really would end up dying. She knew she was making a nuisance of herself with the constant nitpicking, but she didn't know how else to express herself. Some people show love through kind words or gestures. Ruth showed it through criticism.

Rose didn't feel like arguing, and she knew better than to explain her belief about Jack dying if she changed clothes. So she agreed and went upstairs, leaving Ruth alone to search for something else to question. As she climbed the stairs she envied Stella, who had escaped using Ruth's discomfort around children as an excuse, to the peace and quiet of her room.

Jack was awake when she came in. He was sitting up, his knees drawn up almost to his chest. A book with a sheet of paper on top of it rested on his thighs. When Rose stepped through the door he tried to hide the evidence that he'd been doing anything other than sleeping, but he was too weak to move very fast.

"What are you doing?"

"Sleeping?" he said guiltily.

"Do you always sleep sitting up like this? With books and paper and charcoal pencils in bed with you? Because I've slept with you a few times, and I don't remember any of that," she said. Her tone was serious, but there was a smile in her eyes. _He's drawing or trying to. That's good. That means he's getting better._

"I need something to keep me from being lonely without you," he said with a grin. Rose's eyes grew heavy. "Oh sweet Rose, come here," he said, holding his hands out. She sat down on the edge of the bed and let him take her hands. "Hey, why do you look so sad?"

She looked at their clasped hands. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. But this won't last forever. It won't even last that much longer."

She lifted her head. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. "You don't know that."

 _Someone's said something to you haven't they? They've scared you_. He knew there was a good chance he was wrong, but he was angry about it just the same. He gently took her face in his hands. "I do know that. I promise you this will be over soon. And do you know what else I know?"

She shook her head and managed a small smile. "Though I'm sure you're going to tell me."

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I know that when this is all over we're going back out there."

"We are?" Her tone was hope-filled.

"We are. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Oh yes. If you do," she added.

"I'm not finished showing you the world just yet. And Stella needs some of those childhood experiences."

"We'll be like a family of gypsies," Rose laughed.

"That's exactly what we'll be—a family," he said. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand.

"Rose?'

"Hhmm..."

"I think my fever's gone."

Her eyes snapped open. "You do?"

"Yeah. Wanna check it?" She leapt off the bed and grabbed the thermometer. She popped it into his mouth. "You don't waste any time, do you?" he joked.

"Be quiet," she ordered. "If you talk it doesn't work right."

A few minutes later, her hands shaking, she read the results. His temperature was normal. She wasn't sure she could even remember the last time it had been normal "You're right," she said, almost too overjoyed to speak. "It's gone!"

 _I don't even care. I just wanted to see that look in your eyes again_. "Rose?'

"Yes?"

"Will you…would you just lay here with me for a while? I'm sure you're not supposed to, but I don't think I can take lying here by myself anymore."

"I can't think of anything else I'd rather do."

And so for the first time in what seemed like an eternity to both of them, Rose lay cradled in Jack's arms, her head resting above his heart.

….

"My mother's probably wandering why I'm not back yet," Rose sighed.

"Why?"

"She's the one who sent me up here-"

"And here I thought you came up here because you just couldn't stand spending another moment without me," Jack said melodramatically.

Rose smiled. He was starting to sound like Jack again. "Well, that too. She ordered me to come up here and change."

"She sure sent you to the wrong person then."

She laughed loudly, surprised by the sound of it. Suddenly her body felt lighter than it had in weeks. "Oh really?" she asked, playing along. "Are you sure about that?"

He squeezed her, hoping she didn't notice the new weakness in his arms. "As sure as I am that your hair's red."

"What a thing to say."

They settled into silence. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why she needed to change when he remembered who the order had come from. He chuckled to himself. _Bet she can't wait till she can blame me for Rose's fall from respectableness in person._ "Rose?" When she didn't answer he tilted his head so he could see her face. Her eyes were closed, and a smile played about her lips. He knew she was right; her mother probably was wondering why she wasn't back yet. He could just see her, sitting stiffly on the chair in the library, her mouth a tight line, resisting the urge to march upstairs and find out for herself just what Rose was up to. _Let her wait. Rose needs this sleep far more than she needs Rose._

He was just about to doze off himself when the sound of the door creaking brought him out of it. Stella peered through the slightly open door. She appeared to be trying to retreat back into the hallway. "Hey," he whispered. "You don't have to go. What is it?"

She stepped just inside the door and gently closed it behind her. "I was just checking for Rose," she said softly. "Her mother's having a fit wanting to know why she hasn't come down yet."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Tell her she's sleeping and she'll be down when she wakes up, would you?"

Stella nodded. "Okay, but what if she doesn't listen?"

"You tell her to take it up with me then." His tone was light, but his eyes were serious.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you be better soon?" she asked.

He was struck by how childlike she sounded, how unsure. Her personality and disposition tended to resemble that of a much older person, and it was easy to forget she was only nine. Easy to forget she was just a child. _A child who loves you_ , he thought, the realization hitting him for the first time. "Yeah, I will be," he assured her. "Don't worry about me."

She flashed him a quick grin. When she spoke again all trace of insecurity or fear was gone, and in its place was her usual dryness. "Good because Rose's mother is driving us both out of our minds."

"I don't doubt that. But you have to realize, that's the way she loves," he added. "It's kind of weird, but that's just how she is."

 _How she loves you and Rose maybe, but not me_. She just nodded. "I understand. Do you need more paper?"

"Not yet. And thanks again for bringing me some."

"You're welcome," she said, slipping back into the hallway.

Over the next week Jack's condition continued to improve. His fever didn't return, and although the frequency of his coughing fits hadn't quite diminished the pain involved definitely had. He insisted it wasn't necessary, but Rose-and Ruth-refused to let him go without yet another examination by the doctor. Much to everyone's relief he was pronounced "Nearly well." He was advised to take it easy until his strength returned because too much exertion too fast would just bring the illness back. As much as he didn't want to—his dreams were now filled with visions of himself walking around—he agreed to stay in bed a little longer.

"A week or two," Rose had said.

"A few more days," he had countered.

"And have you end up right back the way you were? I don't think so Mr. Dawson."

He'd given up. There was no arguing with her when she got that tone in her voice. And as sick as he was of just sitting around being useless he couldn't ignore her concern for him or the truth of her words.

One morning Rose found herself staring into an empty cupboard. Make that an empty kitchen. Supplies had been dwindling for days, but now she had to face facts. They were out of food. She sighed and closed the cupboard. In all the stress of Jack's illness no-one had bothered to go grocery shopping.

"We ran out of food, didn't we?"

Rose jumped, startled by the sound of Stella's voice. "Yes, we did," she said, laughing quietly at her reaction. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You've been worried about Jack."

"I really have, but we still have to eat. I've never gone shopping for food without him before." She was suddenly overwhelmed by how dependent she was on him _. I never meant to be. He just takes over so many things_. "Hey, why don't we go?" she suggested brightly.

Stella chewed her lip, considering the proposal. "Without your mother?"

"Someone has to stay with Jack, don't they?"

And so an hour later they set off, Ruth eying their backs as they went. "They have no idea what they're doing," she said, watching as their hand-in-hand figures grew smaller and smaller. With a resigned sigh she turned and headed back into the house.

Not sure what to do with herself she went upstairs intending to spend the time alone quietly relaxing in her room, but just as she was reaching it her eyes were drawn to a door at the end of the hall. She'd never noticed it before. I wonder what it leads to. Probably just another empty room. But she walked over and opened it anyway, surprised when she saw a set of stairs lay behind it. "Now that I think about it, this house does have a third floor on the outside. There's probably nothing up there, but all the same..." Without giving herself much time to think about what she was going, she began to climb the stairs. Ruth had never been a very curious person-at least not that she would admit-but there was just something about whatever was at the top of those stairs that seemed to pull her forward.

When she reached the room at the top it took a moment for her to fully grasp what she was seeing. Light spilled through four large windows, illuminating the paintings that were leaned and stacked and hung on each wall. Charcoal sketches were tacked here and there and spread on a table that was also littered with pencils, brushes, and blank paper. She stepped forward and began to examine them more closely. Art had never meant anything to her. She had never understood why it captivated Rose so much, but there was something about these; she couldn't quite put her finger on it. There was just something...

She sucked in her breath as she recognized the subject of one of the paintings. Rose. She was standing on a beach, barefoot, her hair flying back in the breeze. There was a look of happiness on her face Ruth had never seen before. Her eyes moved to the next canvas. It was the flying painting Stella had commented once commented on, now finished. They looked so happy.

"I hope that's a stunned because what you see is so amazing kind of silence and not a stunned because you can't believe how awful it is kind of silence." Ruth whirled around to see Jack leaning in the doorway, his hands crossed over his chest. He wore slight grin. "Though if it's the second one, feel free not to tell me," he added.

Her first instinct was to chastise him for sneaking up on her, but she pushed it aside. She was in his house, and in what was obviously his personal space. If anyone didn't have the right to be there it was her. "It isn't the second one," she said, keeping her admiration out of her voice. "I was actually rather surprised to see how talented you are."

Jack chuckled. "That's why they pay me so well."

"I've never really seen your work before," she admitted. She had chosen to forget the drawing of Rose.

"You can look all you want," he said pleasantly. He crossed over to the table and began to select a charcoal pencil from the pile. "I don't mind." He saw her eyes were fixed on the flying painting. "I love that one," he added. "It's for Rose."

"It is?"

"Yeah. I've got a few other things I've been working on for her. She just doesn't know about them yet." He smiled picturing the look on Rose's face when he gave them to her.

"Are they all like this?"

"Huh? Oh, the ones for her? You could say that. They're all of us, of moments in our life together."

"And the two of you really did this?" she asked, slightly awestruck.

"Sure did. Last time _Titanic_ ever saw daylight." His eyes clouded slightly as the memory of that night washed over him. "That was the moment when I knew we'd be together forever," he added quietly.

"Is that when you knew you loved her?" Ruth was surprised to hear herself ask the question. She didn't know why she was suddenly so curious about their relationship. Perhaps it had something to do with seeing how Jack's feelings had been transferred into a thing of beauty.

"No. I knew I loved her the night before when I walked her back from the party. We were singing and just…drunk on our on happiness. We stopped to wish on a shooting star..." he trailed off, lost in his memories.

Ruth's voice brought him back to the present. "What did you wish for?"

"Something I never thought I could have."

"You've taken good care of her Jack," she said with a quiet sigh. "Better than I ever expected."

"Told you I would."

"Yes, well, there's no need to gloat about it."

"You're right," he said, pushing his immature side away. "And it doesn't matter what you thought before. All that matters is what you think now."

"I think you two belong together," she said, stumbling over the words.

"So do I."

Certain she'd shown quite enough emotion for one day, Ruth nodded and turned to leave. "Jack?" she called over her shoulder as she started down the stairs.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"I can keep a secret if you can."

"You want me to lie to Rose? The woman you love?"

"Not lie," he said, echoing what she had once said to him. "Just don't bring it up if you don't have to, you know?"

Ruth smiled in spite of herself. "Why does that sound familiar?"


End file.
